She'd been killing him. Slowly but surely, she'd been killing him. Every little word she spoke, every action she took . . . she killed him.
It hadn't been noticeable at first, this torturous killing she'd begun. And he couldn't say when he'd begun to notice it, either. He'd been fine one day then the next . . . it was there, glaring at him in the face. His heart had twisted in agony with each passing second, the knowledge burning away at him. He wanted to tell her. He really did. But the words never came. No matter how hard he tried, he could never tell her how he truly felt.
He'd heard it once said that, if your despair becomes too much for you, an emerald stream will appear, to soothe you and to wash your worries away. Of course, he had always scoffed at the idea, especially the thought of his worries being washed away. In all of his life, he'd never seen such a thing to appear and he'd hit some pretty low points in his life, too. An emerald stream had never appeared for him and he doubted one ever would . . . until now.
The water flowed in front of him, a clear and shimmering green. His face had reflected back at him, so careworn, so . . . tired. Tentatively, he touched his face and felt the lines there, even under the smooth surface.
'Do I really look like that?' he thought as he continued to gaze.
After a while, for a reason unidentified by him, he felt his entire body relax. The water, it did soothe him. With the grace that was his heritage, he rose to his feet and spread his arms. His head lifted back as he allowed himself to fall towards those glimmering depths . . .