It won't be long now. Soon, soon, Pumpkin.
The cold shower did little to numb the ache in his bones or the thrumming in his waist. With his eyes closed, he saw her face, her flushed cheeks, the soft flicker of her lashes.
Her terror was a bitter wine on his tongue, but her curiosity was an intoxicating perfume. He had to be ruthless. He had to be the villain. It was the only way to break through her walls, to make her take him seriously, to push her toward the one thing that could save her.
I would ruin myself a thousand times over if it meant saving you from this curse.
A pang of pain shot through him, a ghost of the agony he had endured in the pool. The curse wasn't just on her; it was a constant drain on him.
Each time she died, a piece of his essence was lost, only to be painfully reformed. He had to break this cycle, not just for her, but for them both.
He leaned his head against the tile, letting the water run over him. His eyes opened and stared into the steam.
