He took the coat.
That is her first thought, her first dim realisation amidst the reservoirs of pain bursting free through her body. She does not move. She does not think she can. Only shallow, gasping breaths, as if snatching air rather than the granted inhalations that is ordinary. The glass litters around and on her, a cracked halo, thorn-blanket.
He comes, her mind relives, lingering over the moment as if it cannot halt the replay. He comes, and he stands by her barely-together form. She thinks she sees his head tilt back and embrace the downpour, but she cannot be certain now. What is truth? But when he glances down at her, his eyes are unreadable in the crashing of the rain. There is nothing of the sadness that had clouded and sharpened them before. Only a distance that she wishes did not exist.
And then his hand, reaching. For a moment she thinks he moves to cup her cheek, a delicate caress that would only add to the agony. Such an apology would be worse than the knowledge she has now, worse than the blindness he had kept her under, the blinkers that focused her gaze away from the most important signs.
But no.
He takes the coat, takes the shield Will gifted her, and she is left trembling and soaked as the monster walks free, unchained and unrestrained.
If she had the strength, she knows she would be sobbing. But life is leeching from her, and she's not sure how to stop it – if she even can.
Her eyes close, and that poison that she had spoken of, that swirling, rising darkness, envelopes her completely. Until nothing is left.
Oblivion is horribly sweet.