"No!"
The shout seemed to echo around the ship, and it took him a moment to even realize that it was coming from him, his whole attention focused on Milah, on what was happening right in front of him. On how he couldn't get to her and on how the demon was reaching into her chest—
and clutching her heart.
He broke free and went to her, was at her side the moment he could be, his attention focused no where else but upon his love. Killian could feel his heart clench as he looked down at her, pale skin seeming to fade, even though he knew he had to be imagining it; she wasn't dying.
Not yet..?
Milah.
Killian felt her hand on his face, and he held her. Heard her whisper her love to him, her (dying) declaration, before he saw the light physically fade from her eyes. The adventurous-seeking fire, the joy and hunger and happiness, the love—everything that burned within her, extinguished in an instant.
He could feel his heart; it was broken—shattered—in hundreds of thousands of pieces. Was it physically possible to still be alive and feel this way? To feel this defeated and broken? He barely registers the steel of the sword at his neck, except to wish it went a little deeper, cut a little harder—pierced through the skin and sent him on his way to the afterlife.
Because he couldn't be without her. Not again. He couldn't lose another aboard this ship—
Except he had.
She was gone.