He remembers dying.
Remembers the wolf’s snarl on a woman he loved, and the screams of a woman he does love. He doesn’t remember much after that, only waking alone, and when he says her name, there is no response.
(She went to the witch-woman and made promises that would come back to haunt her, but they were bound in the womb and they are bound now so it doesn’t matter, none of it does. The witch smiles and agrees, and thus Contagion is brought back.)
Alone, he rises. He is still a thing made of glass, a thing impossible – doubly so, now, for an early death had been inevitable for such a fragile thing and though he should walk no more he defies it, defies the logic and law of nature to live again, walk again, say her name again, even if it’s just to the wind.
He’s not aware he’s weeping.
(He is his father’s son.)
He stands alone in the meadow and feels an odd sense of déjà vu. Last time he was here, he walked on to his death, though said death had ultimately taken place in the falls.
(The sound of rushing water, once beautiful, will forever send shivers down his spine.)
But they are gone. All of them are gone and Contagion exists, alive again, standing frail with paper wings folded at his back.
contagion
be careful making wishes in the dark