“It’s not going to break on its own,” said the witch. “Stop fighting your instincts.”

I couldn’t bear another night of this fever’s grip—the ferocious aches crawling through my muscles, my pounding head, the bone-deep chills that set my teeth chattering like a wind-up toy.

It would be so easy to just end it, I thought. Eventually, pain overrides everything else. Unthinkable acts become beacons of salvation.

“I can’t go on like this,” I whispered to his sleeping form. “I’m so sorry.” I sliced his jugular as she’d instructed, drinking long and deep until the fever finally loosened its hold.
 

The End.

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