Book Confessions of an Ex-Ballerina

Arsan’s hand lifted, touching my hair. My white hair. It must have turned colors when I had died. He played with the strands between his fingers before his fragile strength left him and his hand dropped. Arsan’s breathing was shallow and long between. He was slipping away in front of my eyes and there was nothing more I could do. I willed my magic to move faster, but the extent of his wound was vast. It was working as fast as it dared, making sure it didn’t miss anything.

I placed my free hand on Arsan’s chest. I could feel his heart beating, but it was slowing, weakening with every passing second. No, Arsan, you have to hold on. Tears fell freely down my face, dripping on the frozen ground below me. I felt a thump on my hand, then a pause. The last thump came slowly. He was gone, his heart had stopped beating.

“No,” I moaned. I was too late. If only I had been able to subdue Farenan quicker, then maybe Arsan wouldn’t have been hurt. Then he would still be here with me. “No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to grow old together, you and me Arsan. You can’t leave me here, you can’t leave me.”