Fingers gripped onto torn cloth. The retreat was called but Alistair would stay. He wouldn't leave. He couldn't leave. A cry left his lips and he pulled her close. "Please," he begged. His fingers brushed against her cheekbone. He clung to the hope that she was still with him. He waited for her to open her eyes and smile. So that she could see what she had done.
The coldness of her body was like an icy burn against his touch. She was gone. She was his hero, his love, and his lost one.
"I'll never forget you," he promised.