[For a moment, pain blinds Liem with the force of sheer panic, making him clutch helplessly at the blade now jutting from his chest. He can neither pull it out nor drive it properly home, but simply clutches at the hilt as his blood slowly coats it, and as he struggles to breathe around the knife now piercing between his ribs. His legs may not buckle completely, but Hayame's grip does keep him from staggering against her with the sudden bloom of pain.
Perhaps she feels it too; he can't keep his thoughts from spilling out in those last moments, carrying his pain and his helpless desire to do something, anything at all to make her existence easier despite his weakness. Regret surges as soon as he registers the stab of the blade, for the simple reason that he realizes that he was right after all, and it will still have to be her hands that end his life for him.
Not enough. He can't summon the will even for this.
With a snap, his trembling body goes limp, held up only by the sick and unnatural connection of body and the head that Hayame still grasps. For a moment, she is simply left holding a corpse, whose hands slacken and slump from the knife still jutting from its ribs.
Then it lightens, crumbles into a pale ash that rains upon the ground only to evaporate into mist. The only solid things to clatter onto the earth below are the eight-pointed shape of his shard, and a knife that is still wet with his blood.]
no subject
Perhaps she feels it too; he can't keep his thoughts from spilling out in those last moments, carrying his pain and his helpless desire to do something, anything at all to make her existence easier despite his weakness. Regret surges as soon as he registers the stab of the blade, for the simple reason that he realizes that he was right after all, and it will still have to be her hands that end his life for him.
Not enough. He can't summon the will even for this.
With a snap, his trembling body goes limp, held up only by the sick and unnatural connection of body and the head that Hayame still grasps. For a moment, she is simply left holding a corpse, whose hands slacken and slump from the knife still jutting from its ribs.
Then it lightens, crumbles into a pale ash that rains upon the ground only to evaporate into mist. The only solid things to clatter onto the earth below are the eight-pointed shape of his shard, and a knife that is still wet with his blood.]