“You can do this,” she whispers against my lips. “I promise. I’m telling you the way through. I need you to have faith in us. In the us I promise we become.” Why does it feel like she’s still not telling me something important? But I can’t fight her any more. I don’t want to. I press my lips to hers one last time before gentling and putting my forehead to hers, wrapped tightly around each other, eyes closed, breathing her in. Then there’s a terrible, endless emptiness I’ve become so familiar with over millennia. When I open my eyes, I’m alone.
