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PAST:
"Say it, son." His booming voice echoes in the darkness. "Say the words."
"I can't breathe," my small voice cries. I bang thin fists against the crate to no use. I cannot break it. I cannot get out.
My father groans, loud and full of disappointment and disgust. "You are a pathetic creature. How could a son of mine be so weak?" I hear his slow, heavy steps as he circles the iron box, with me folded inside, gasping for breath. The deadly toxic metal eats away at my flesh.
"You mustn't show such weakness, child. It will be the death of you. Show no fear."
Embrace the darkness. I hear his thoughts.
"Please father..." I pull staggered gulps of air into burning lungs. There is so little of it left. I cannot breathe. My lungs hurt. My head hurts. Pain courses through my cramped muscles, my melting flesh. I feel the cold so keenly now. It's consuming me. Devouring me alive.
Die. I wish for you to die, his thoughts say. But with his voice, he commands my abeyance. "I will not release you until you speak the words to me. You will die unless you stop being afraid."
But I cannot speak. I can barely stay conscious. My eyelids grow heavy and tired. My body just wants to sleep. A forever sleep...
"Say it!" he shouts; the walls vibrate, and my eyes open. "Out loud, for all the world to hear. You must, or you will never truly be free."
With all my waning strength I pull in enough breath for him to hear me. Just this once, I need him to really hear me. "I am not afraid—" One last, cold tear slips down my face, then turns to ice.
And in that very moment, I feel the fear break and crumble away from me, and with it many other emotions... sadness... regret... jealousy... love... “I'm not afraid. Not of you. Not of anyone. Not of anything.” The box explodes apart, piercing him with splinters of wood from the force.
Rising from my grave, I tilt back my head and peer straight into his empty eyes.
"I am not afraid to die."
****
PRESENT:
Freezing out emotions. Freezing out pain. Freezing out everything that made me feel. Yes, I'd become the pleasure-seeking being I was famed for, but it was not for the reasons they believed. I'd never cared what others thought of me. Until I met her. And suddenly I went from not giving a care, to caring far too much...what she thought of me.
The blackness returned.
"It's not working. We're losing him. Do something," she cried into the dark.
Doctors. Healers. Shamans. I do not trust them. Which is why I'd never put my life in their hands. Fey have the gift of healing within them. Mine still functioned, and yet here in the dark, cold void between life and death, it seemed sluggish and unable to do what it was meant to do. Unable to save me.
I don't care. I’m not afraid to die.
"We have to remove the metal rod. He is losing too much blood."
Humming. Buzzing. The pound of running feet, the prick of a needle... hushed whispers, urgent orders spoken in foreign tongues, a blur of sounds and senses. Memories flashed in rapid succession, one more painful than the next.
It mattered little to me if I didn't survive this, as long as she did. I'd lived long enough to know what the future had in store for me...more of the same on a never-ending loop. Enough. I was glad to be done. If this was to be my end, then let it be such an end that it was worthy of being remembered. That she would remember.
I wanted the pain to be over. This was my end. I waited for the darkness to claim me once more. This time encapsulating me in its depths forever.
"Don't you dare leave me."
I heard her whispers, felt her breath both cold and hot against my skin.
"You have to live."
When death finds you, it brings visions of many things. I saw myself. My life. My sins. My losses. None of them mattered as much as what I saw next. I saw the things I would never have if I perished on this day. I saw...her.
Me with my flawed morality—I could never be worthy of her. But knowing it never stopped me from wanting to be.
Silently I prayed to any saints who might be listening. Let this be over. Let her be safe.
Voices murmured. Like ghosts in the afterworld. Was this death? If so, I welcomed it. I wasn't afraid to die. I did not fear death, for my life was never mine to begin with. It was hers. It had always been hers. To love someone is to grieve them. For love shoves you into a black hole—an abyss from which you can never escape.
But, something held me here, in this world—keeping me from falling under.
"Live," her voice urged, desperation in its plea.
I gasped in a searing, cold breath, my eyes cracking open.
Her face faltered, and she clasped my hand quickly.
"Please," she whispered. "Keep fighting."
"You have to keep fighting..."
"For me."