whisper, “I’m going to go out like a Roman candle and not even leave ashes behind for my parents to bury.” Everything recoils—body, glamour, mind—and his broken “Beat that” shatters me. Oh, Goddess. He’s going to die. He’s going to die and there won’t be anything left and I won’t even have a place to visit his remains over the millennia. “Fuck,” I choke out.
