Elijah died once. He didn't die again for a thousand years.
His eyes are covered. His wrists are bound. He could easily break free, wouldn't take more than a second. He could wrench the dagger from her hands and turn it against the fragile, human heart that's beating frantically in his ears.
"Are you sure?" she asks, again. The dagger point rests lightly on his chest.
"Yes," he says.
He's never been afraid of death, has never had to be.
"You really trust me?" she says, in a small voice.
He sees her, little slip of a girl, stab herself, bargain herself against him. Sees her make a fool out of him, plunge the dagger into his heart.
Sees his own brother do the same.
"Shouldn't I?" he says.
She breathes. He feels the muscles in her legs stiffen on either side of him. She's bracing herself. The dagger pierces his skin, just a little bit. Then, he feels the air from her harsh exhale on his face, and she rises up and plunges the dagger inside, all her weight behind it.
For a few brief seconds it hurts, like nothing has ever hurt before or ever will again.
And then he opens his eyes, gasping for air he doesn't need, and she's holding the dagger in one hand and a blood bag in the other.
Elijah died once. He didn't die again for a thousand years.
His eyes are covered. His wrists are bound. He could easily break free, wouldn't take more than a second. He could wrench the dagger from her hands and turn it against the fragile, human heart that's beating frantically in his ears.
"Are you sure?" she asks, again. The dagger point rests lightly on his chest.
"Yes," he says.
He's never been afraid of death, has never had to be.
"You really trust me?" she says, in a small voice.
He sees her, little slip of a girl, stab herself, bargain herself against him. Sees her make a fool out of him, plunge the dagger into his heart.
Sees his own brother do the same.
"Shouldn't I?" he says.
She breathes. He feels the muscles in her legs stiffen on either side of him. She's bracing herself. The dagger pierces his skin, just a little bit. Then, he feels the air from her harsh exhale on his face, and she rises up and plunges the dagger inside, all her weight behind it.
For a few brief seconds it hurts, like nothing has ever hurt before or ever will again.
And then he opens his eyes, gasping for air he doesn't need, and she's holding the dagger in one hand and a blood bag in the other.
"Thank you," he whispers.
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