She shakes her head—she won't do this to herself—but his face appears despite what she tells herself.
She vividly remembers everything. His loving embrace, his calloused hands against her skin. His sweet words said in the most playful of voices; she would laugh if the pain wasn't so intense. Oh, how she longs to be in his embrace one last time. If he were here, he would wipe those tears away. He would tell her that it was okay. And even if she knew it wasn't, she would believe him. She would believe him, even as she laid there dying.
Her memories shift to more recent events. The blood coating his face and his screams of pain and agony. He was broken. He was never broken, not even when he stubbornly faced death. He was the strong one. She remembers watching those brown eyes slowly close. She remembers hearing his dragon roar in anger and torture, fighting to get to him.
Her memory fades as a pool of blood grew around his body.
It matters little now.
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