Dying

The goading scabbard lunges at him and the writhing self claims its ossuary beyond the precipice and into the bile of the belly not quite unlike an arterial chasm. Her anguished face is hidden by the long wispy strands of chocolate hair. Blood spurts out of the wound and spatters thick onto her pallid face. Its warmness eats the flesh away from her soul, the only organ that hasn’t been taken along with half of a shattered heart. He squirms in her arms, screaming from the pain. She tries to restrain him while staring in horror at the drenched body in front of her. One last yelp of agony and he finally collapses. That half of a shattered heart is now completely smashed; the soul dissipating inside. The knife goes in and her spirit comes out.