the girl who lost it all [d.m]

thirteen: diversus

"You wouldn't leave me," she mumbled against his skin and it was hard to hear her over the wind and the waves. "You wouldn't. Right?"

"Never," he said, fiercely, without even thinking. "Never. You're mine."

It felt good to say—felt even better to hold her again, even if she was distraught. She fit so nicely against him, a puzzle piece he'd been missing for so long now.

"You love me?" She pulled back now and terror reared its ugly head in his chest. Her face was streaked with blood—running in rivulets down her cheeks, stemming from her eyes.

She wasn't crying tears. She was crying blood.

"Elara—" He could hear the panic in his voice as he grasped her face, pulling her in and dragging his thumbs across her cheekbones. His hands were suddenly stained with red and nausea swelled in him like a wave. "Elara, you're—"

"Do you?" Her hair was flying all over the place, frizzy and wild, and she kept gazing up at him, pitiful and pleading and broken. "Draco. Do you love me?"

"Yes." It pushed past his lips on its own accord, heavy and real. "Yes—fuck—yes, Elara."

"Then you won't leave me?" she asked, hands clutching onto the front of his cloak. "Even if I'm tainted and—and damaged?"

"I am too," he breathed, dropping his head. Crimson red trailed down her face, collecting against his thumbs on her cheekbones. "I'm never leaving you."

She glanced back—over the edge of the cliff that he'd almost forgotten about. "Never?"

His heart turned cold. "Elara. No." He was trying to tug her away in the next moment, his emotions a mangled mess. Terror, panic, nausea—they all twisted into a singular knot in the middle of his chest and spread outward, reaching its greedy roots into every fibre of his being. "Get away from the edge, Elara."

"You don't understand." She was slipping out of his grip and he was panicking now, reaching for her, but somehow his hands never got enough of a hold on her frail body. "Draco, this is how it has to be."

"No!" he screamed, his eyes stinging, as she took a step back and he lunged for her, getting a grip on her hand but he could feel her sliding away. "Elara, stop! Please—please—"

Lightning slashed through the sky, blackened clouds gathering above them, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The waves rolled in response, rising and lashing out at the craggy rocks, as if impatient for their next victim.

"Come with me," she whispered and he didn't know how he heard it over the cacophony of sounds around them. "It's the only way. Draco—listen to me. It's the only way."

"No." He couldn't let her die—not again. Once more, he reached for her out of pure desperation, his stomach twisted tight. "No. Elara, come back—"

"Come with me." Her face was still stained with blood, smudged where he'd pressed his hands against her face. "It's going to be alright."

"No," he gasped out, clutching onto her hand like it was his lifeline. "No. Stay with me. I'll fix everything, I promi—"

"You can't." Elara gave him a sad smile
and his heart broke. "Just come with me."

"I love you." His throat was raw and she was an inch from the edge, her hand slipping away from his grasp even as he struggled to hold onto it. "I love you—I'm so sorry—"

"If you do," she said and lightning illuminated her face in the darkness, "come with me."

"I can't—we'll die—please—" When had he started crying? He could feel tears tracing down his face and his shoulders were heaving, his sternum uncomfortably tight with dread. "Elara, please."