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51

FLICKER

CEDRIC

The pain is sharp—a flash of white-hot fire.

It starts at the point in my chest where the blade pierced my skin, and it spreads outward in waves.

Searing. Scorching. Searching.

And then, just as quickly as it came on, it dulls. It fades.

A different kind of pain follows. Softer. Familiar. A flickering light, the last embers of a dying flame.

The breaking of a heart.

I expected it to hurt more. I expected it to hurt less.

There’s a coldness now at the edges of my mind. A creeping numbness, biting, like the chill of winter frost. I feel it—feel me—slipping away.

I look at her.

Her face.

Her eyes.

Two glimmering pools of emerald, liquid silver lining the edges. They’re full of life. She’s full of life.

She’s going to live.

She’s going to change the stars-damned world.

It eases some of the chill that’s taking me over, if just for a moment.

She’s looking at me and her face is wet.

She’s crying.

For me.

I wish she wouldn’t.

But she’s so fucking beautiful, even when she cries.