Page 197 of Famine

But the truth is, I actually like this derelict little house of ours, and I’m curious just how overgrown I can make it before Ana actually loses it.

I expected the townspeople to plot against me, to rebel and fight for their lives. I wasreadyfor that confrontation. But while I sense their deep and abiding fear, they have left me alone. I even get the impression that they respect me.

Ana, on the other hand, is openly adored. The same people who cast me fearful glances will happily pull her aside to chat about this or that. I would die before I admit it, but a part of me is proud of how beloved my fiancée is.

And now I’ve come to the ridiculous decision that maybe I’ll hold off killing them altogether—at least while Ana lives. Only then will I resume ravaging these lands.

My throat closes up at the thought of Ana one day dying.

Whatwillhappen when that day comes? Once she’s given me children—assuming, of course, that she ever wants them—and she grows old and passes. She’ll be gone, and … and … I will be forced to feel the earth take her body back into itself. I will feel it pick her apart and disperse that beloved skin and that beautiful hair and every other bit of her into the ground, food for some other, newer life. The world will go on,Iwill go on, even if she won’t.

I find I can’t breathe at the thought. It cuts too deep. Much, much too deep.

Why have I never considered this?

It’s not even her dying that causes me grief; it’s the lingering on without her. Lingering on and on.

I stand out in our yard, taking in my surroundings with a sort of helpless fear I’ve come to despise. I can hear Ana somewhere in the house, humming while she burns the dish she’s trying to make.

I still can’t get enough air in my lungs.

How will I ever possibly take back up my scythe once she’s gone?

Iwon’t.

I can’t.

It’s as simple as that.

What a fool I’ve been to believe I didn’t have to choose between Ana and my task. Choosing herwasthe end of my task. There’s no moving on once she’s gone.

But—if I’m made mortal—I’ll age with her, die with her, move on to whatever comes nextwith her.

I want that. I want it bad.

But mortality would mean living in this body I have long despised, a body I’ve only recently been reconsidering. And it would mean giving up my powers.

That’s a staggering tithe—one my brothers have already paid.

I finally understand why they traded in their weapons and their immortality. There is nothing quite like being human. This damnable, deranged experience actually has some perks.

I find I don’t care nearly enough about my power to shake away this notion that I could be mortal with Ana.

I want to do it. Right now. Before I lose my nerve and retreat back into my usual, apathetic self.

However, there is one more thing that stands in my way, one other thing that’s always stood in my way.

Forgiveness.

The word rings in my ears like God Herself spoke it.

Forgiveness.

I suck in a sharp breath. Ever since I first heard Ana speak that word in her sleep, a word her vocal chords shouldn’t have even been able to produce—it’s been there, taunting me.

I’m not sure who I’m supposed to forgive, but I imagine it’s everyone. God would expect no less.

It’s not even in my nature to forgive. I’m apathetic at best, vengeful at worst. And after everything humans have done to me, to Ana …