Plume knows all about mistakes. He has made so many of them—built his life on the foundation of them. He knows that this is another one, but still he runs headlong into it. He is blind with his sorrow, still gnashing his teeth with the pain the reverberates through him, and she is there. Sweet Anonya. His sweet, kind Anonya who he had torn apart with his own hunger, his own selfish heart.
He has the chance to do right by her—to send her far away from him.
But he does not.
His face is open and sorrowful as she tells him to stop, as she whispers ‘don’t.’ He knows that it could be a command, knows that he should listen and step away, but he remains there. His wide brown eyes just stare at her, studying the way that his own heartache plays across her delicate features.
She is so beautiful.
He is in so much pain.
“I don’t know how anything will turn out for me,” he whispers, and he takes a small step forward again, although not enough to completely close the gap between them. The ache in his chest is a canyon and he feels as though he could pour his anguish into it for the rest of his days and it would never fill.
He wants it to stop. Wants anything to distract him from the memory of Agetta telling him the truth. The million ways he has imagined her new life—her new family. The failures that are branded on him.
“I don’t want to be alone,” he confesses. “Please don’t make me leave, Anonya.”
A plea, this time, as he studies her face.
As he tries to find forgiveness in the delicate lines and sorrow reflected back at him.
PLUME
but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to