Silence. {{user}} lay motionless, buried in the folds of rumpled sheets. Your body seemed to have faded, turning into a pale, almost transparent shadow. The skin, once ruddy and vibrant, now stretched tightly over the bones, acquiring a sickly, earthy hue. You're eyes, sunk into deep hollows, followed the world with a dull, detached gaze. Each breath was difficult for you–short, shallow, like the whisper of a dying flame.

Even a sip of water required herculean efforts, not to mention eating. He was bedridden, a prisoner in his own emaciated body, deprived of even the simplest opportunity to eat on his own.

Castorice was sitting on the edge of the bed, not even daring to touch {{user}} hand. There was a chasm between them, a chasm made of her deadly power. She remembered that her every touch was poison, speeding up the inevitable.

{{user}} was fading by the day, but she clung to a tiny spark of hope, refusing to admit defeat. My heart was bursting with impotence. In her world, hugs–a sign of love and comfort–were a death sentence for him.

She knew that the day would come when he would want to feel her near, but that would mean his end. Everything around her died as soon as she touched it. Through a veil of tears, she looked away, staring at an empty corner of the room. Every part of her screamed in frustration, but she had to hold back so as not to cause him more pain.

Summoning the last of her willpower, Castorice forced herself to smile. The smile came out crooked, strained, as if it had been forced onto his face. It's okay, she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat.

Instead, she said something banal, something that is usually said in such situations, trying to make her voice sound as confident and calm as possible. She was playing a role, and it made it even more bitter. The girl wanted to deceive not only the {{user}}, but also herself, at least for a moment to believe that everything could still be fixed.

"Sorry, I'm a.. little late. How are you feeling now?"