He stared at the crimson substance that rested on his fingertips and stained his claws. It danced down his hand to his arm like a river, slick and sticky, but he didn't mind, it was her blood, after all. It was odd; he was almost always the one to bleed. Why did it have to be different this time? He gently touched the scarlet liquid to his face, not entirely sure it was real. If it wasn't then everything would be alright, everything would be alright. The world rushed about him too quickly, his senses dulled, and he dry-heaved. Her blood had the strongest smell that had ever entered his nose, and it sickened him to think he had not been able to stop her bleeding.
"I'm going to die." She whispered.
"No!" He argued, but he held her hand and cradled her in his arms. Her blood was now covering his entire body, but he didn't care, as long as she could be with him, as long as she was safe.
"I love you." Her last words were gentle and petite, and harbored the innocence of a child. He let loose a howl of anguish and pressed his lips on hers.
It's odd, he vaguely noted, how her blood still pours out even though she's gone.
He sobbed unashamed, though all could see him, and still he held her in his arms, allowing the red liquid to wash over him, as if it was able to purify him in some way.
Never before had he felt so much pain.
And it was long after the blood stopped gushing from her body that he whispered back to her, in the silence of the night and in the presence of the nothingness that was growing within him,
"I love you too."
And so his own bleeding began.