I press a finger to her lips and urge her toward silence. She can’t afford the luxury of speaking and thinking—can’t afford to expend the much-needed energy.
When her eyes flutter closed, I tighten my hold.
Every inhalation a prayer: Save her! Spare her!
Every exhalation indulging a long-dormant rage—cursing the lot of them.
She didn’t deserve this.
Never stood a chance against them. And, as it turns out, neither did I. Having failed in my bid to help her—look after her—guide her.
Though it’s not over yet.
I gaze upward, our destination still so far away. And though her heart continues to beat, it seems only to do so in order to pump more blood from her wound.
She’s fading.
There’s no way she’ll make it.
Yet she still summons the strength to ask if it’s snowing—hoping to leave a gift for her friends.
Ready to surrender to death just as soon as I confirm it. A trace of a smile lifting her cheeks as she rolls toward the edge.
And though I know it’s wrong—though I’ve been warned many times before—it doesn’t stop me from cupping her face in my hands and molding my lips tightly to hers.
My silent plea for forgiveness, chased by a single life-restoring breath.
Paloma
“Come to the window, cariño. It’s snowing. Looks like Daire has done it after all.”
Chay looks at me, waiting patiently. But when I fail to join him, he crosses the room to the battered old table where I hunch over a book that’s been part of my life for so long, I can no longer remember a time before it.
“What are you looking at?” He rubs a comforting hand over my back.
I nod toward the codex. Robbed of my words along with my breath. Unsure if what I’m seeing is real, or if I’m merely a tired old woman gone suddenly mad. Needing him to confirm either way, and secretly hoping for the latter.
His whispered “My God” providing all the proof that I need to know it’s not me.
His strong arms fold around me, though it’s not enough to buffer me from the truth.
It really is happening.
A long-foretold future has gone into limbo.
The two of us huddle together, gazing upon the ancient tome. Watching as words that have remained there for centuries, slowly lift from the page.
Leaving a large blank space where the prophecy stood.
“What does it mean?” Chay’s haunted eyes search mine.
I pull my red cardigan tightly around me and look toward a window framing a flurry of snow that falls from the sky.
Reluctant to admit I don’t know what it means.
I haven’t a clue.
For the first time in a long time, the answers elude me.