I feel like my old, wretched self as we trudge north. Like the unicorn dagger, the world has grown dim. It has nothing to do with the ever-advancing void, which seems to suck color and vitality from its surroundings.
Rexa is gone, and a piece of my soul went with her. Grief comes in waves for the others; sometimes their brains allow them moments of peace. Not so with me. My misery is cruel, crushing, and constant. It compresses me into a singularity of nothingness.
Nothing offers relief, and nothing matters.
Objectively, I know that’s a bad attitude. I still have a world to save and darlings to fight for. But when there isn’t a single droplet of happiness to be dredged from my existence, fighting seems pointless.
Cendrion can’t fly bearing three humans, so he blazes a trail north, stam
