Lunacy
The sky is inky under the blue light, and she understands before she can move the first step. A rush of pure energy is what drives her legs and her hands; she does not know anymore, and remembers nothing but that she does not want all of this.
Just stop, her mind screams to the things. Stop draining all of me and all of us, all that moves and breathes and talks. Even without a tomorrow to look forward to, she can no longer bear this. She needs to move on.
The next instant, she finds she is flying, far away with his voice. His pleading words and his terror ring too clear, but she can't even think about it — she just clings to it, holding tight, because that is what she has always done. There is no longer a reason, and maybe never was one. She still doesn't care.
Her voice comes soon, with the burning void and the flames and the pain. She would like to scream, but silence swallows her throat — she can no longer open her mouth, and she is flung and wounded, torn between the driving forces of her life.
She barely feels the metal slipping from her hand, or the tight grip around her wrist. Her aching limbs quiver, the air sends sharp blades on her skin; she feels weak, and can no longer fight it. No tears nor laments; she merely falls.
Even for her, this is too much.