AN: To kick off NaNo, I wanted to post something. I considered something from somewhere in Shattered Albion...

She awoke staring at a ceiling, not certain where she was. The light slanting in through the windows was strange. Everything hurt, particularly her arms, which felt as though she'd had them trapped in a vice. And then she became aware of the smell—thick, cloying, metallic; she knew the smell of blood anywhere. Victoria slowly sat up. Blood was everywhere, drenching her clothes, her skin…the carpet around her. What had happened? How had it happened? This was not the way things had been earlier…she had to have lost time. But why?

A faint touch on her elbow made her jump and she almost missed the murmur of: "Oh, wonderful; you're awake."

She spun around, nearly falling over. Reaver lay behind her and she knew immediately that the blood was his. His chest had been ripped open—slashed repeatedly with sharp claws. In certain spots she could see down to the bone. He didn't appear all that bothered by it, though; gazing at her with slightly unfocused eyes and the ghost of a smile on his lips.

But he wasn't healing like usual, either.

"What happened?" she enquired, voice cracking. She wanted to touch him—to know if this was some kind of terrible dream…to feel how strong his pulse was—but she didn't want to hurt him.

"Nothing of importance," he replied lightly.

Something in the way he stared at her was unnerving. Careful and observant but with a soft edge that reminded her of the last time he'd said she wasn't to blame. Why would he—no. "It was me. I…I did this. I—"

"No. Not you."

"It was my body—"

"But it was not you. You didn't want hurt anyone."

"I hurt you." There were tears now—she couldn't fight them any longer. She'd thought she had the Crawler under control; that it was no longer a threat. She'd been wrong. There had to be something she could do, a way to help, but this was supposed to be a holiday…she hadn't brought any potions. The extent of the damage was too extensive to apply pressure on. And the nearest town and doctor was so far away.

"I don't count," he laughed, utterly serious despite the forced humor.

"You count; you've always counted." She pressed her fingers to his cheek, choking down a whimper at how cold his skin was growing. She could remember little things now, like glimpses of an old dream. A voice like murder pouring from her lips. Arms wrapped tightly around her, refusing to let her go no matter how she struggled. Whispered words in a language she didn't know but which called to mind memories of nights spent by a fireplace, using her Will to make the candle flames mimic wisps. Her Will…. "I think I can fix this, but I don't know what will happen."

"Victoria, please—"

But she had to try. She'd never been good at healing spells. A good healer, she was aware, could pull Will from the world around them to aid their spell—or, at the very least, had a reserve of Will just for healing. Victoria knew how to do neither, frequently relying on her own life-force to power her healing spells. No, she was not a good healer, but she had nothing else. She charged her Will. The spell felt strange. Pulled too tight somewhere in the vicinity of her chest. But the magic spilled forth from her fingers nevertheless. Her heart leapt, jumping into her throat as the edges of his wounds began to knit back together. Just as quickly, her hopes were crushed as they reopened, a tar-like substance eating away at the edges of the gashes and oozing out to mix with his blood. More power.

"Don't—"

She increased the amount of Will she poured into the spell, but was met with poor results. Healing began and immediately stopped. She fed more power into the spell, hoping desperately for success. The pleasant tingle of Will-use had turned so something sharper, like razors under her skin. The tightness in her chest was growing, like a barbed chain was wedged into her heart and trying harder and harder to pull free. Her spell was no longer having any affect. The blood was slowing, but his skin was growing ashen and pale. The healing had failed.

Maybe if I— She tried to increase the Will she used once more and cut herself off with a yelp. The chain had snapped, sending a shock of pain through her body. She could no longer feel her Will—her tattoos had stopped glowing, not even the faintest spark of magic would respond to her. Everything inside her was crumbling.

Fingers intertwined with her and she wasn't sure what hurt worse: the knowledge that she'd failed him or the affection with which he looked at her.

"Are you alright?" he enquired.

She looked away, staring at their hands and attempting to ignore the tears rolling down her cheeks. Still, she watched as the drops fell, blood-tinged, onto their entwined fingers. "No. No, this wasn't supposed to be like this. We—"

She broke off, unable to continue. They were supposed to have a chance at a happy ending. Didn't they deserve at least that much? A chance for everything to start anew? But now….

He tugged at her hand, weakly attempting to pull her forward. She finally realized what he wanted, and acquiesced, laying beside him and resting her head on what little of his chest wasn't torn flesh. She closed her eyes, falling away into the distant sounds of his breath and the faint beat of his heart.

"It isn't so bad," he said after a long moment had passed. "I always knew red was my colour."

"Avo damn it all, Reaver," Victoria cursed as he let out a pained chuckle. "It's not funny. Don't—"

He gently smoothed the hair from her face, cutting her off without saying a word. Weakness was seeping through her body, draining strength from her muscles. She relaxed, focusing on the feel of his hand stroking her hair and back.

"You're here," he added, serious once more.

Victoria's tears had stopped, but her eyes still burned as though they might return at any moment. "I'll always be here. The Gods themselves couldn't take me from you."

"Nor me from you."

It was getting hard to hear him, his voice fading like the light outside. Her heartbeat had slowed, too, and moving was becoming difficult. She thought about fairy stories—about everything being fixed with a kiss. She would kiss him a thousand times over if it meant he would survive.

A soft huff drew her from her thoughts and she tried and failed to raise her head. "What is it?"

"I remembered a story I never told you."

"Did you want to tell me now?"

He was quiet for a beat before acquiescing. Words spilled forth, a long dead language she would never learn but that made her feel like she was finally home. She listened until his words trailed into silence and his hand stopped moving in her hair. Until his heart stopped.

She was too far gone to cry, fading quickly. Darkness encroached on her vision, and then…peace.

AN: ...but y'all got this instead. April Fools? Everyone's actually alive in SA and no one dies? Is this how you April Fools?
This was a prompt response for Ravencroft1972 who asked me to write my "OTPs reaction to each other dying". All blame goes to him. Anywho. Prompt ½ completed. I…am not looking forward to the second half. :|
Reviews are much appreciated!