An Immortal Hypocrite

The dreams had been getting worse and worse, the usual knot in his stomach turning to the taste of bile in his mouth, strangled, terror-stricken cries that died in his chest – I failed, I failed, I failed. I should have been there, I should have caught her, I should have saved her, I should have come sooner or run faster or screamed louder…

I failed.

He wakes up every night with tears running down his cheeks, his fingers aching where Lirum had slipped through, the whisper of the tulle of her dress like fire on the back of his hand. He wakes up with Sarah's sobs still echoing in his ears, the crash of the ocean and the screech of the seagulls and nothing else.

That was one thing he would never really get over: the silence. She didn't yell or flail or panic, just sort of tipped backward like a china doll knocked off its shelf, her last, soft gasp of breath carried to him on the wind a moment too late. Kaim had taught her that. He had taught her to be strong, always strong, and even in those last few seconds she had honored him with the quiet acceptance of her fate. He'd never hated himself so much as he had right then, Lirum tumbling silently into the endless blue depths as he screamed and tried to grab her, her strength only illuminating how very, very broken he was, an immortal hypocrite with his hands full of nothing but air.