But it’s not a god either.
No god would be this cold. This detached.
The god my mother believes in, the one I wanted to believe in, even after everything I’ve seen, is warm. Compassionate.
This thing isn’t.
It looks at me without recognition. Like it doesn’t understand, or care, what just happened.
I want to scream at it. To claw its face, shake it, demand that it do something. That it help Sabine. I’ll handle whatever’s coming for me, but not her. She doesn’t deserve this.
Whatever it’s planning to do to her, it needs to stop. Right now.
But the Reaper just tilts its head.
My thoughts don’t reach it.
Then, in one clean, silent arc, it swings the scythe.
And I’m helpless to stop it.
Her light vanishes.
Gone.
Snuffed out like a candle between two fingers.
And my world splits apart.
I scream. I thrash. I sob without lungs.
But it’s all meaningless. Just noise in the dark.
Until the Reaper turns away.
So does the raven.
And I’m alone.
And still.
Until something inside me jerks.
Like a thread pulled tight.
Like I was tethered this whole time and only now someone noticed.
It yanks.
Hard.
My vision warps.
Pain explodes behind my eyes.
My chest caves in, then swells like it’s trying to remember how to be alive.
My blood screams through my veins.
