She stared at the knife in her hands. So many times she had cut and watched the lovely red blood flow, the physical pain washing away the emotional chaos. He had watched; impassive behind the mask he wore. He had never tried to interfere. He understood the need to escape the pretense.
"I've tried to be strong, but it is so much easier just to fade…" she thought, never realizing that she had said it aloud.
She never knew that he heard those words. Never knew that those were the last words she ever said.
That night she succumbed to the darkness. She placed the knife on her wrist and sliced more deeply than ever before. The pain ebbed as her life faded.
She lay back on her pillow and before oblivion took her she smelled traces of lavender.
He stood in the doorway of her room twirling the knife in hi hands.
It had been her most prized possession, and it was fitting, oh so fitting…
"I've tried to be strong, but it is so much easier just to fade…" she told him.
He had watched her do just that in those last months. She was gone; he would never again run his hands through her lavender scented hair. He would never again watch her hold her mask so carefully in public, never again watch her lovely skin part and the red blood flow under the very knife he now held in his hands.
He entered her sanctuary and sat on the bed. He placed the knife on his wrist and sliced deeply, oh so deeply. He watched the blood flow as his sight darkened…
And in the last moment before oblivion took him he thought he smelled traces of lavender.