A single, jagged sob escaped him, a sound of pure agony that seemed to vibrate through the very restraints holding him. "She died. Right here. In my arms."
"And the worst part... the part that's been rotting me from the inside for years... was the way she looked at me..."
"She looked at me with forgiveness. She shouldn't have. She should have cursed me. She should have hated me. But she just... she just let go."
"She probably loved you," Serenia said.
Her voice was no longer the melodic, ethereal song of a goddess; it was the grounded, heavy warmth of a woman speaking to a grieving child. It was the real thing: raw, unpolished, and devastatingly kind.
"People who love someone often forgive things they have no business forgiving."
"That isn't a commentary on your worth, Corvus. It's a testament to hers."
"I should have been the one to die," Corvus rasped, his eyes finally lifting to meet hers, pleading for the judgment he felt he earned.
