Eragon looked on teary-eyed as blood spilled down his arm. Liquid fogged his vision, blurring what he saw between pink and crimson until he could not tell where one began and the other ended.
Why?
The tears… they were not for the blood, the pain.
He wished they were.
Why did this have to happen?
Eragon weighed his sword over the remaining arm.
She… she cared for me.
So much. So very much. Probably even loved me.
…But…
...not in that way.
The blade flashed. Instantly, hot sticky liquid splattered his wrist. His fingertips were bathed in red.
Eragon! Saphira's voice appeared out of nowhere, driving deep into his thoughts. She had been hunting, when she had felt a sudden pain in her paws.
"Waise heill." The cuts disappeared. But just a moment later, his wrists were cut deeply again.
Not this Eragon. Not this…
Eragon ignored her and muttered the words of healing, then again he repeated his suicidal process.
His features cringed with pain as she attempted to drive her presence into his mind. But he blocked it with a single image. A wooden floor, bespeckled with dark lines of blood.
Again... and aga... but it didn't work. No matter how much pain he caused, and then he felt, it could not numb him to his true pain.
Heartbreak.
Please... Eragon…
I'm sorry, Saphira.
He lifted the blade to his throat. The slightest touch broke the skin, leaking crimson waves onto his chest.
Please Eragon… not this. Saphira's voice was pleading, begging…
I'm sorry… but I can't take the pain.
With a surge of strength, he drove the blade forward.
I just can't take it.