I cannot know if this was the priestess’ path as well, but I know it is the scribe’s: to feel, to experience, to empathize. Thus I am you dying in his arms, and him holding you as you die. Thus I can feel the wounds in your lungs gape open as you struggle to breathe, taste the blood that floods in and bubbles up your throat. I can feel the hot liquid soaking my clothing as you jerk and tremble against my grip. For the sake of the world you died once, and for the sake of the world you die again here. But not alone. You do not die alone; I am with you, and I will remember this pain when you are naught but the ashes he carries in a locket ’round his neck. As scribe I die with you, the better to understand, to capture, to immortalize. As scribe I am yours, I am his, in all ways. Even in this.