If am lost, I am lost on purpose.
It is not easy to cradle death like this, and although she had not supposed that it would be, there is a piece of her that is still surprised. That is nearly shocked at the way it tries to cleave her into two. How she can feel such piercing agony over someone she barely knew—someone she recognized regardless. It goes against everything she knows and believes to be holding him like this now. To let herself cry over him. It goes against the way that she lived her life—the fast and easy way that she let things pass her by.
But she doesn’t care.
She stays with him, cries over him, regardless.
“Mesec,” his name hurts to say, if only because she did not get the chance to say it often. Should she tell him how she had planned to come find him? How she had been so interested to know him more? How she had wanted to hear all of his stories? Would it matter now? The words don’t come and she dips her head a little, her body shimmering as it begins to fold and bend. The white and gold and crimson bleed away to be replaced with his black and silver. Overlarge wings sprout from her shoulders. A crooked horn grows.
She does not resemble him exactly, but she dons that which makes him him.
Holds close to these pieces of him.
“I’m right here,” is all she says through a tight throat. “I’m right here,” she whispers even as his eye closes and even as she feels his labored breathing begin to slow. She presses another kiss to his mangled face, feeling the blood on her lips, and when he stops breathing, she finally loses all sense of control.
She drops her head to him, drapes her neck over him, and for the first time in her life, she sobs.
