She leaned forward, her forehead nearly touching his ghostly image, though she knew she would only feel the biting chill of his displaced existence. "But you are gone..."
"You have been gone for twenty-six days, and I have spent every single one of those days pretending... In some quiet, rotting corner of my soul, I have been waiting."
"I have been pretending that some part of you was still standing behind me, watching over me, waiting for me to catch up to you... And that pretense is killing me."
Her fingernails dug into Rex's palms so hard she felt the wet heat of blood beginning to seep between their joined hands; the price of the ritual was becoming physical, brutal.
"I need to move on, Veylor," she whispered, her tears dripping onto the floor like molten silver in the candlelight. "I need to actually allow myself to live again..."
