A/N: While I'm swimming in the middle of three fanfic WIPs Of Doom (the Black Jewels one is bigger and doomier than the other two) this little one popped out. Thanks to Skye and Foxfire for the beta.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Anne Bishop.

"There are two ways to do this," Saetan said, sitting beside him. "The easy way is to leave without saying goodbye."

"She's asleep right now," Jaenelle said. "I can't promise you'll be able to talk to her."

The young and very new demon stood unmoving, no longer quite conscious of how very still his dead flesh was. His fidgets and blushes were gone, along with something very vital. "I need to see her, Lady."

Jaenelle closed and unclosed her hand on the doorknob. "She's in very bad shape."

He tried for a smile and ended up with a grimace. "So am I."

She stood outside, while Morton went to see his Queen.

The room was dark. A small crystal shed light over the tray of instruments and the tangled web on the bedside table, and even in that light (the way he was seeing the dark was different and new) Morton could make out Karla's face. The healing had taken a terrible toll on her; her skin was waxy, discoloured under her eyes. The Craft of the Hourglass was entirely a mystery to him, another part of the uncharted private realm Karla inhabited but he was shut out of, but even he could tell the web on which her life depended was a sign of trouble. It was so large, so intricate, so terrifying in its complexity, and even with these, Jaenelle couldn't say if she'd recover completely.

The war was home now. First casualty, second. One killed, one wounded, but the terrible truth was beyond their bodies. The true strike against them was in their lives. When she came out of the Darkness, as he had, her injuries would only be one way to tell that her life as she knew it was ended. Like him, she would wake up to find herself in a brand-new Realm which was only more painful because it so closely resembled the old one.

"I came to say," he said, to his cousin's sleeping form, "that I'm leaving."

In the silence, the slow, deep breathing of deep sleep.

"I, uh, didn't mean to leave. And I would love to stay. But, uh, circumstances have changed, and I—I can't." He wished she were awake, alive, that he could see her eyes narrow in suspicion at him, ask him exactly what he was up to. "I've just found all of a sudden that I'm dead, and that, well, that changes things.

"Not that I mind dead people. I just, well, can't think of me...being one."

His breathing could hitch, even though his lungs didn't quite work the way they used to. "I died, Karla. I died. And it can't be the way it used to be."

There was too much to say, too much stuck in his throat. He wanted the words that would make this clear, would put an end to it. He had a horrible, awful vision, had ever since he woke up the first time: they would ignore it. He would ignore it, would go on believing he was still alive. He would stop being what demons were, forget that he was living past his time, and it would be as if nothing had happened at all.

He wanted nothing more.

"Thank you for being my Queen." He bent over, kissed the fragile skin on her forehead. "I'll wait up for you." Pause. "Make me wait."

When he closed the door behind him, his heart quietly bleeding, Jaenelle looked up. He nodded once, tired beyond measure. "I'm ready to go now."

Witch took his hand and led him out, beyond the pathways mortals walked.

In the room behind, Karla stirred in her sleep, and made unheard a quiet sound of loss.