The constant sedation has reached a dangerous point now. It is necessary to ease her pain, but at the same time, the awareness is there that the next dose she is administered could well be her last. The body was not meant to tolerate such heavy medicating for the long term, and already it has been several weeks, the frequency and the dose itself growing exponentially in that time. Two days ago, she stopped breathing shortly after I medicated her in the early morning. It was Eyla’s screaming, that Gods awful inhuman sound that I shall never forget, alerting me to it.
I’d only stepped out of the room for but a minute or two to fetch some parchment and ink so that I might write a letter while she rested. I won’t make that mistake again. It’s not the unborn child that I am concerned with. If it dies, then that is of no consequence, but quite simply, Ana might almost be ready to leave us, but I am not ready to let her go.
I’m not sure what the girl did to revive her ‘mother’ but I almost dare not question it. Really, does it matter the means, if an end was reached? Ana is alive, for now.
Still, I cannot close my eyes without seeing the expression on that wretched creature’s face as she, as it wept tears from the sockets where her eyes had once been. Tears of blood.
She begged and pleaded and as she wailed, my head hurt, for it was not just her sounds of panic and upset that filled my ears, but the voices and sounds of many. Who and what, and how many, I’ll never know, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t want to. Only Lord Stormblood can answer that, perhaps, but he hides himself away from me, from his wife, his ‘daughter’, and who knows where. They say that everyone grieves in his or her own way, and I won’t question it, or force my hand there. It is not my place. I do hope, for my sisters sake, though, that he does come back before it is too late. For his, too. There is nothing worse in this life than leaving things unsaid. And Gods know, if I have unfinished business with her, then he must, too.
Why am I writing this? And who am I writing this to? Nobody, to be perfectly honest. For there is not a soul in this world that I can talk to about it. She is the only person I could ever talk to about anything, and already there were far too few words spoken, too many things that we did not talk about, that we will not be able to …
I swear, with everything I am and everything I have left, that if that unborn child lives, I will smother it before it draws a breath amidst the destruction it is about to leave in it’s wake. I am not one to dwell on what is fair, and what is not, because that is life. Life is not fair, but it seeks to take one who was too good for it to start with, and with her, the light that surrounds her, the light that she is fades. She will leave behind a darkness that nothing will ever be able to touch again. And there is nothing just or fair about that.
The light fades, slowly but surely.