Page 321 of Of Sins and Sacrifice

Still gazing at me, Mine silently mouths something just as the messenger reaches out for him.

“Come find me.”

And then he’s gone.

FORTY-SIX

The sheets are warm,but his body is cold. I reach for him as I always do, waiting for him to reach back in return. In that moment, I delude myself into thinking that I didn’t just see his soul being taken away. That was just a bad dream. He isn’t dead. He’s just sleeping.

But he never reaches for me. His body is still, unresponsive.

“Don’t you dare,” I mutter under my breath. “Wake up, Mine. This isn’t funny.” My voice trembles as I speak, my body tense with fear. I push at his shoulder. No answer.

No, no, no. This is just another nightmare. He’s not dead. He cannot be dead.

With growing panic, I shove him again, my voice becoming frantic. “Wake up,” I demand, my voice cracking. “Wake up!”

His head tilts slightly at my touch, his once vibrant face now slack and lifeless. My heart pounds in my chest as I refuse to accept this reality.

No. This can’t be happening. It’s not real.

I grasp at him, cupping his cheeks, willing for any sign of life. But there is none. “This isn’t funny! Please, stop it!” Tears stream down my face. “Wake up, please wake up—” I shout, all over again, a command meant both for him and for me. If thisis a dream, then I will just wake up and everything will be fine. Mine will be there to hug me, kiss me, love me. He will be there for me.

But my cries go unanswered. He remains frozen in place. I remain present and awake.

My hands move down his body, feeling the chill of death under my fingertips. Madness overtakes me as I lay my cheek against his heart, trying to transfer some warmth, some vitality back into his still form.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

My own powerlessness stares back at me. I might be a goddess, but even I do not have power over death.

How did this happen? How can this be real? He was alive just last night, his warm body next to mine.

Now there’s only coldness.

I am made from cold, to love the cold. But I’ve never in my life hated it as I do now.

A guttural scream tears from deep within me, clawing its way out and echoing through the empty room. It’s a sound of anguish and denial, raw and primal, like that of a wounded animal.

I dig my nails into his chest, hoping to elicit a flinch or a sigh, anything to prove that he is still here with me.

But there is nothing.

More cold descends in the room, the walls slowly becoming covered in frost—a physical manifestation of my grief. My powers become uncontrollable as I give the ice that’s building inside of me free rein to consume the outside. Yet it never touches him. It engulfs everything but never him.

Because he’s already been consumed by the cold…

I continue to plead, my fingers now tangled in his hair as I shake him in desperation. “Don’t you dare leave me!” I cry out, half commanding him, half begging him.

I press my lips to his, some delusional part of me thinking that my kiss will revive him. But he remains unresponsive, his mouth slack against mine.

Slowly, I pull away, my tears falling onto his expressionless face.

True terror grips me as reality crashes onto me.

He’s gone. His soul is gone. Now there’s only this lifeless body that means nothing to me without its spark.

Numbness engulfs me as I slide to the floor next to the bed. I stare into empty space as I breathe in and out and try to clear my head. I won’t resolve anything by devolving into a hysterical mess. Time is of the essence here. He might be gone, for now, but his soul is still alive.

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