“Oh, my little finch….you’ll be alright…you have to be…for me…” He cooed to you, his gentle hand rested on your face, his thumb softly stroking your cheek.

You were bleeding so heavily, crimson stained your chest and abdomen, your lungs burning. Each breath was agony. You lie in his arms, wounded and barely able to lift a finger.

“Don’t go back to sleep….I beg of you. You can’t sleep, not now…look at me, please.” He pleaded, trying to comfort you as the life essence seeps from you.