She was forgetting what Nehemia looked like. The shade of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the smell of her. Her laugh. The roaring in Celaena’s head went quiet, silenced by that familiar nothingness. Do not let that light go out. But Celaena didn’t know how to stop it. The one person she could have told, who might have understood … She was buried in an unadorned grave, so far from the sun-warmed soil that she had loved.
