It is standing at the corner of his vision.
It is lightly blowing in a wind that is nonexistant.
He can hear the whispers.
Is it just him?
Or are they calling for him to join them?
She shoots a jet of light yet again at his chest.
He easily deflects the deadly power.
She is about to burst with rage,
he bets.
Her wild dark hair is already flying about
And sticking to the persperation on her face.
Her eyes are so dark with malice, anger, and...
Confusion?
He does not understand it.
He is winning, and she is too flustered to think of a decent spell.
He lets off his guard for one second.
The light hits him in the middle of his chest.
He is flying through the air,
It is slow motion.
He feels the hands that belong to the voices.
They are grabbing him,
Pulling him in.
They are lonely. They want him.
The fabric slips over his face
Smooth against the bristle of unshaven skin.
He knows that the slight tingling is increasing.
He smiles.
The curtain. He passed through.
There are worse ways to die.
Than passing through the veil.