The light returned to his eyes, as he made his decision. He hugged Blackthorn tighter, saying nothing. A small sad smile, the slightest bit of guilt, but it needed to be done. Those stormy grey eyes, he closed them for the last time, and he allowed his fingers to lose their grip in the divine realm, and for their great winds that had once fostered his strength to carry him towards the door, and into the abyss.
A hand at his back, that same hand again. A sensation that he had recorded, then dismissed, during the heat of his anguish.
There like a brick, unwilling to let him go any further. That line, the threshold that divided the realm between Gods and men, it would not let Oliver past it.
A catch, like a fish caught on a hook. Oliver tried to wiggle free of it. He had made his decision, he was ready to go, it was done.
Eyes flew open again. Gold, so firmly gold.
