LXXVII. To Hold the Wind—Vincent
LXXVII
To Hold the Wind
VINCENT
I fell to my knees and pulled her into my arms. The snow had gathered in her hair; she was cold and stiff, but her blood was warm and bright, spilling over my hands like fresh-pressed oil, staining my clothes like illuminated ink.
When I cradled her against my chest, she opened her eyes and looked at me.
“ No, ” I said to her when she granted me a sad, soft smile. “Don’t you dare leave me, Red.”
But in my heart, she had always been the wind, never staying in one place for too long.
I had always known that I could not hold on to her.
I could run in her wake for as long as I had strength, but I was destined to grow tired and slow.
It did not matter how much I desired it; some moments, I could draw close enough to share the same breath as her.
I could seal her mouth with my own, I could dream of growing old at her side.
But there were other moments when I knew I could not follow her.
“Stay with me,” I whispered, a hoarse, broken sound.
“ Vincent, ” Matilda breathed.
She closed her eyes, solemn, peaceful. I held her tight against my chest, aligned her with the pounding of my heart. Her crown of stars remained, gleaming in the darkness.
She died in my arms.