"You're so eager to die," she said as she slowly moved her hand forward. The gesture was almost gentle, fingertips describing a lazy arc through the stale air, yet the world seemed to lean away from it. The yellow light of the river went thin and papery, the current flattening like a beast warned quiet by a larger one. Even the grit beneath Ludwig's boots felt hesitant, grains settling as if not wishing to be counted.
Ludwig didn't hesitate to clash with her extended fingers, but the moment the sword landed on her open finger, the two of them were forced back. The contact made no proper sound, just a low, wrong shiver that passed through crystalized steel and bone, a sensation like biting tinfoil. His heels carved two shallow grooves in the mud, her slippers slid a thumb's breadth, and the river exhaled as if it had been holding its breath.
