I find her lying against the wall of the cell where she had been imprisoned. She has definitely left this world; she no longer walks beside me.

  She stopped breathing a while ago. Her once rosy lips are now covered in dried blood. Every trace of color has vanished from her face, and her eyes have lost their characteristic glow.

  A sharp pain pierces my chest like nothing I have ever felt before. The air escapes my lungs, and I feel the pressure of invisible hands tightening around my throat, gripping so hard I can't look away from her.

  It is torture to see her like this. I can't move my eyes.

  I became familiar with blood a long time ago, but seeing it on her makes me sick.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  But such pain is nothing compared to knowing who is to blame for her dreadful state. I freed her, but in doing so, I have condemned myself to unbearable suffering without her presence.

  A tremor runs through my knees; I feel them giving out. I clutch the iron bars, just a breath away from collapsing and becoming another body in this cell. Part of me wants to follow her—it would be easier.

  I rest my forehead against the cold iron and try to breathe slowly, to regain composure. Never has a situation been more torturous than this. I don't want to turn around and face reality.

  I choke back a sob with all my strength.

  "If we meet in another life, I truly hope you won't trust me, for I might lead you to your death," I whispered into the void, my voice barely audible.

  The words linger in the air, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

  "I love you," I confessed, after walking away from the cell.

  Of all the moments I once imagined to reveal my feelings to her, this was the last.