She was already cold when he found her. He still saw her now, sometimes, in his dreams. He found himself walking that long dark hallway, again and again, knowing what awaited him at the end of it, but unable to force himself to turn back.
This time, he always told himself. This time, I’ll be fast enough.
This time, maybe, she won’t be there at all. Or maybe she would be waiting for him as she had a hundred times before, her hands pulling her shawl close, threading the cloth between her fingers–
Thin, elegant hands, stretched beautifully against the bedsheets*– *pale and dug into the tiles, caked in congealing–
She would turn to him and smile, laughing that light and lilting laugh, like the brush of a birds wings, like a fresh breeze through the garden–
–they must have come through the garden, he followed the trail back, found the wide and tacky pool, the cloying reek of rot that covered up the scent of flowers–
She would rise onto her toes, press her forehead against his, churring warmth and greeting as their antennae tapped together, exchanging marks–
–marks upon her, the dagger burried deep within her chest. Not a vincam dagger, but sharp enough to split the chitin, to pierce her lungs, her body skewered with a surgeon’s precision, with a knowledge that must have rivaled her own–
If the coast was clear, she might even kiss him then, and he could feel the smile against his lips as he had a hundred times before. But she was always patient where he was not, her dance was always a gentle one, slow and steady paced. He never liked to wait, but he would wait for her forever, follow her as she pulled away, further down the hall–
–down the hall and through the warren, she had dragged herself. He always felt compelled to follow the path, to pause where she had, gasping perhaps, where the blood pooled, where her gloves smeared magenta heart’s blood upon the walls.
Their hearts, their corons, thrumming in synch, hushed laughter echoing in the vaulted ceilings of the halls. She would lead him in the chase, coming close enough only to touch, to graze, only then to spin herself off into the darkness and he chased her in dizzy circles until at last they would wind up right back at his door–
–slumped against it, her bloody hand prints smeared across the surface, her body curled, impossibly small, within the alcove before his chambers. She was cold already, cold and stiff and eyes dull as frosted sea glass, he took her hands and folded them gently across her chest–
He would take her hands and pull her within his chambers, Yhinn eagerly following —
–he would sit and hold her, left forever behind.