The Cold Face of Truth
The next morning—if it could be called morning when time seemed to have stopped—Selin woke to find Murat sitting by the window, his form more solid than she’d ever seen it. “You’re fading,” he said without preamble. “Not just tired. Actually fading. Like I’m erasing you from existence.” Selin looked at her hands. They were translucent in the morning light, almost ghostly themselves. “Then we’re becoming the same,” she said. “Both of us half-real, half-gone.” “That’s not romantic, Selin. That’s horror.” “Maybe for us, they’re the same thing.” Murat turned to her, and his face—usually so composed in its ethereal state—showed raw pain. “I’m killing you. Slowly, surely, I’m killing you. And you’re letting me.” “Because I love you.” “Love shouldn’t be suicide.” “Tell me what you want me
- Writer
