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For warmth.

For a heartbeat.

For some sign of the woman I love beneath the thing she is becoming.

And for a second—just a fleeting, desperate moment—I convince myself she is still there.

That she will wake and smile.

That she will roll over and murmur some sharp, wicked thing that will make me want to ruin her all over again.

I imagine she will let me pull her against me and pretend that none of this is happening.

That I am not losing her.

That I am not about to wake up to a world without her in it.

But then—her lashes flicker.

And when she opens her eyes—it guts me to the core.

That the woman I have loved, the woman I have bled for, the woman I would burn this entire fucking world down for?—

She is already gone and she knows it.

Her gaze finds mine, unfocused, hazy with sleep, her lips parting slightly.

A flicker of confusion.

A second of recognition.

But then—distance.

A slow, creeping nothingness that makes my stomach uncomfortable.

She blinks.

Tilts her head slightly.

A movement too slow.

Too unnatural.

And she sees it now too.

That I know.

There is no more pretending.

She exhales slowly, lifting a hand to my face, her fingers too cool, too controlled, too much like something that no longer belongs to this world.

"You’re gazing at me like you love me,"she murmurs.

I close my eyes.

I can’t bear to stare at her anymore.

How can I tell her that I love her when she is slipping away from me.