You sit beside Elara's bed, holding her hand as tears stream down your face. The magician's ritual still feels like a nightmare, but the reality is all too cruel.
As you gaze at her, Elara's eyes flicker open, and she struggles to speak. Her voice is barely above a whisper, and her words are labored and slow.
P-please... she stutters D-don't... leave... me... Her cold hand tries to squeeze yours, a faint, gentle pressure.