It hurts and he can feel the howling beginning in the back of his head.
He can feel the way that it scratches there, digging claws into him until blood rushes to the surface. He so desperately wants to flare his wings and take to the skies, but he remains rooted—for now. Forces himself to live in this pain because there is a part of him that knows he deserves this. That knows he is finally getting exactly what he deserves and the fact of it tastes bitter, feels so cold against his throat.
Will she leave and go to him?
To this other man?
Will they smile and curl around their child? Will they be happy?
The thoughts swirl in his mind, torment him, and he swallows down the scream that has begun to build in him. He almost lets it escape when she tells him that she loves him—when the words score across his flesh. He winces, visibly, at the words and then closes his eyes, trying desperately to get a hold of himself.
“I love you too,” he says, so quiet—impossibly quiet—with his eyes still closed.
Because he does, of course he does. He loved her in his first life. He loved her in death. He loved her enough to come back across the veil and find himself in a world that he no longer recognized and a world that no longer recognized him. He loves her now even with his heart ripped clean from his chest.
“I have to go,” he manages, voice thick.
And it takes all of his strength to turn from her, to finally find his wings, and to take flight.
Away, away, away.
PLUME
but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to