He’s even more beautiful like this. It’s true. I kiss him once, gently. I close his dark eyes and brush a lock of hair from his face. Slowly I take my hands from his throat, where light bruises are already blossoming on his flesh. Dead. His trembling lips form one last word, and then he’s gone. He shudders and convulses, but slowly ceases struggling, and his hands over mine go limp. I tighten my grip and watch those stunning eyes go wide. He mouths something to me, unable to speak yet still wasting precious air. His are so dark, so empty, that I can lose myself in them if I’m not careful. Our eyes meet. His hands tug at my wrists, a half-hearted attempt to loosen my grip as he gasps for air. His body jerks beneath mine as he is wrenched from sleep, gasping for breath. I slip my fingers around his slender neck and squeeze. His eyelashes tremble and I wonder if he is dreaming of me. I kneel over him carefully. He has waited for this moment, as I have waited, for an eternity. For a moment I stand over him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps. Silently I slide from beneath the warm sheets and dress. So beautiful. The moonlight dusts his pale skin in silver and shadow. I wake in the night and glance to him laying beside me, sleeping peacefully. He is the Beloved, the one I have been waiting for, and it is time. He came to me to die.

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