You lie there. You can slowly feel your substance slipping away. You wonder a little if this is all there really is to life, in the end. But someone is lifting your head carefully, placing it in their lap. You slide your eyes open, and there's an angel above you. A figure dressed all in white, long blond hair falling in her face as she looks down at you. You realize its not an angel, for it would be looking down on you, not really seeing you, in your pool of darkness.
You realize her blue eyes are wet as she smiles down at you. You furrow your brow trying to remember something. You're positive it was important.
"Are you," you croak, god you sound weak, perhaps this is not as important as you thought, "Are you proud of me?" It would have been cowardly not to finish. And perhaps, now as it stands, its okay to look a little weak. After all, it was a defeat.
You part your lips again, "Are you proud of me?" she's biting her trembling lower lip, "I died for what I believed." You're hesitant to add, even in your thoughts, I died for you.
"Of course I'm proud of you," she whispers, "I'm always proud of you." You smile, eyebrows scrunched together in pain, and perhaps, well... You're reluctant to leave anyway, you weren't quite finished here. You don't think anyone was ever proud of you before.
"I..." she trails off. The look in her eyes is painful, even for you. She looks... lost. Your eyelids flutter closed as the back of a cool hand strokes the side of your face. You lean into the touch a little.
"I'm very proud of you," the voice is quiet, lilting, angelic, and it slowly seemed to be fading away, "Now sleep."
"Will you be here when I wake up?" You try. Its so very quiet, and so very warm, and so very comfortable, and there's still that cool hand, which is so very comforting.
"Always," the voice says, its very far away now, and it sounds... it sounds like its crying. You don't know if its answering your question, or... perhaps another.