At the end there was you: a novella by Wendy Heiss

Author:Wendy Heiss [Heiss, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-06-04T18:30:00+00:00

Three days until the end

He looked tired when she returned to the library on the fifth day. Something rested heavily on Winter’s chest when she looked at him in this new dishevelled form that she was sure no one had ever seen him in. There was much certainty in her thoughts concerning him. Like he’d asked the other day, she also just knew about him—it was like a sense, a foreboding that scared her senseless.

Not bearing it any longer, she reached him and took his hand before she had time to think against it. “Let’s spend an hour outside. I miss the sun and it’s finally out today.”

“Have a break and go stay in the sun for a little while. Take your friends, too,” he said, but still held onto her hand, his thumb working back and forth over her skin, so softly and tenderly that gooseflesh chased up her arm and then all over her body.

Winter shook her head and pulled onto his hand until he had no choice but to get to his feet. They were so close that her neck ached at the angle when she looked up at him. “Take your book. Contrary to popular belief among corpses like yourself, you can also read outside.”

He leaned down until his face was entirely too close to hers that she could taste his scent of vetiver and sandalwood on her tongue. “Is it so?”

She nodded and made to pull away from him before her mouth would start watering just for a little taste of his skin, but he held onto her tightly. “You’re holding my hand.”

“I suppose that is what they call it when two people join their hands.”

“Why are we?”

“Any objections?”

Still dazed, she answered, “None.”

“Winter,” he called to her, and she snapped back to attention. “You were about to take us somewhere.”

“Right.” She closed her fingers around his hand and pulled him out of the library and towards her room to fetch a blanket.

Azriel stood like an anomaly in the middle of her room, observing the hollow space made of four walls, one small window, a bed and a small table. It had surprised her the same when she’d seen it for the first time. How much she had left behind in her old life made of rosy walls and fresh flowers on every nook her mother could fit. She’d been sheltered within those same rosy walls which had been covered in tar from the outside.

“They lock you in here?” he asked her.

Her laugh was half uneasy and half embarrassed. “No, they do not lock me.”

“Looks like a prison cell.”

“I’m sure even prisoners are grateful to have a warm bed.”

“Yes, but you aren’t a prisoner, are you?”

At times, she thought. “I do not ask for more. It satisfies me.”

“Satisfies,” he hummed her words as he studied the small objects on the odd table where she had her meals or sat to read and write. Picking up the book resting there, he turned to face her. “You said tales are useless.

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