The Undoing of Us

Talking to the Moon

The blood is hot and sticky beneath Aveline's knees, seeping into the fabric of her clothes and staining her skin crimson. It pools around her trembling hands as she presses them against the gaping wound in Ren's chest, trying desperately to stem the flow. But no matter how fiercely she fights to hold him together, his life ebbs away with each shallow, rasping breath.

Ren's chest rises and falls in jagged stutters, the rhythm of his heartbeat growing fainter with each passing second. Aveline's own heart clenches, a vice grip of anguish and denial squeezing the air from her lungs. This can't be happening. Not here, not now. Not to Ren.

"You're not dying," she whispers, her voice cracking under the weight of the lie. The words taste bitter on her tongue, false reassurances crumbling to ash in the face of reality. But she clings to them anyway, desperate for something, anything to hold onto. "You're going to stay with me, Ren. Do you hear me? You're going to stay."

Even as she speaks, Aveline knows it's futile. The wound is too deep, too wide—a gaping chasm that no amount of pressure or prayer can close. Her brother's blood is slick and warm against her palms, a sickening reminder of how much he's already lost. How much more he stands to lose if she can't find a way to save him.

Tears blur her vision, hot and stinging as they carve trails through the grime on her cheeks. She blinks them away furiously, refusing to let them fall. Crying means admitting defeat—means acknowledging that this is an ending she can't rewrite. And Aveline has never been one to surrender without a fight.

But as Ren's breathing grows shallower and his skin turns ashen beneath the moonlight, Aveline feels something inside her splinter and crack—a fault line running straight through the heart of her. This can't be how their story ends. Not when there's still so much left unsaid between them—apologies unspoken and forgiveness withheld. Memories yet to be made and laughter yet to echo.

He promised her forever. He promised he would never leave. And now...

Now all Aveline can do is watch as her brother slips further away with each labored breath. Watch as his life bleeds out onto the cold earth beneath them. Watch as fate cruelly rips away the only constant she has left in this world.

A world that already feels darker without him in it.
Ren's hand twitches in hers, cold fingers grasping weakly at her own. His lips part, a ragged whisper escaping. "I told you...not to follow me." The words are little more than a breath, but they cut through Aveline like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.

She stares at him, at the face she knows better than her own—now so pale, so broken. This isn't the boy who taught her how to wield a sword, who chased away her nightmares with silly stories and warm hugs. This isn't the brother who stood by her side through every loss, every heartache. This is a stranger wearing his skin, a shadow of the person she loves most in this world.

And it's a sight that splits her heart clean in two.

"Shut up," Aveline snaps, the words tearing from her throat in a ragged sob. She tightens her grip on his hand, as if she can anchor him to this world through sheer force of will. "I'm not letting you go. I'm not letting you leave me. Not like this."

Her voice breaks on the last word, shattering like glass. She can feel the weight of the universe pressing down on her, the cruel inevitability of loss looming over them like a shadow. But Aveline refuses to accept it. She refuses to let Ren become just another name etched onto a tombstone, another memory that fades with time.

He's her brother, her protector, her other half. And she'll be damned if she lets death steal him away without a fight.

Aveline leans closer, pressing her forehead to Ren's. His skin is clammy against hers, his breath a faint whisper against her cheek. "Stay with me," she pleads, the words a desperate prayer. "Please, Ren. Just...stay."