I looked down upon us all.
Chay, rigid, blinded by terror, her soul shimmering beside her, preparing to leave.
Farmer, transfixed. Someone who has entered another's nightmare: fulcrum of all futures, catalyst of all actions - but ignorant of all outcomes and trapped in statuesque indecision.
Malkaz, preparing to taste my flesh. My soul he would have to seek, for it is close to Chay's, both souls ready for flight.
To join the void, that would be the easy way.
Were it not for never being able to watch Chay write poetry again.
Or seeing her smile. Or knowing her beauty.