The Moment She Let Me Go
499 Words
There are worse ways to die.
I’ve seen them.
Caused them.
Lived them.
But none of them compare to the way she let go of me.
Not with screaming.
Not with blame.
With grace.
With love.
And that’s what killed me.
⸻
When I first felt her spark, I didn’t believe it.
Not really.
I’d told myself it wasn’t possible to burn for someone again—not like before. Not after her.
But then she stood in that pathetic mortal bar, eyes sharp, mouth reckless, energy thrumming under her skin like a fuse waiting for flame.
And I knew.
I knew before she ever spoke my name.
Before she ever spat curses at me.
Before she ever moaned it into my throat.
It was her.
The woman I failed to protect.
The soul I watched turn to ash in my arms.
The one who shattered the prophecy the first time around.
And chose me anyway.
⸻
So when the bond began to weaken—when my hands started shaking, when the heat inside me cracked and flickered and ran from me—I knew what was coming.
I just didn’t tell her.
Because how do you say:
“Loving you is killing me, and I would still choose it over living without you?”
You don’t.
You stay quiet.
You let your ribs break inward.
You pull away so she doesn’t see you crumbling like the world tried to do to her too many times before.
You lie.
And you hope she’ll forget.
But she didn’t.
She came for me.
Fought for me.
And then… let me go.
⸻
When she spoke my true name in the Circle of Mirrors, it wasn’t just power. It wasn’t just magic unraveling.
It was every moment I ever held her in any lifetime dissolving in front of me.
It was every “I love you” echoing backward into silence.
It was a sword through my soul, and I didn’t even flinch—because I knew.
She was saving me.
From fate.
From prophecy.
From myself.
And the worst part?
She was willing to lose herself in the process.
⸻
When I woke up—whole again, flame restored, soul unshackled—I reached for her like I always had.
But the air between us felt different.
Lighter.
Colder.
Empty.
The tether was gone.
And though her eyes still held the same storm I had always loved, there was no pull.
No thrum.
Just Azelrah.
And me.
Two people with too much history and no fate to hide behind.
And gods help me… it terrified me.
Because I wasn’t sure I knew how to love her without the bond.
But now?
Watching her walk across the throne room days later—barefoot, flame in her eyes, the crown re-forging itself around her head without anyone’s permission?
I knew the truth:
She didn’t need me to love her to stand.
She never did.
But I… I might still need her just to breathe.
- Writer
