Hello! This is an idea which sort of jumped into my head a little while back. Don't know how good it actually is, but I hope someone gets enjoyment out of it!
While this may actually turn some people off, we are going in with the assumption that LND did happen. But wait! Not really!
Cold and burning heat. They make up my being. The cold freezes, making my bones feel as though they have been iced over. There must be frost permeating from my body. I cannot feel my feet any longer. My fingers are almost numb, but my arms are still mine. They are currently wrapped around the source of heat.
Said heat source is trembling; its arms, so strong and protecting, are clutching me against it, as if trying to dispel the cold and share its warm. There is no transfer. I focus my eyes on its face.
Stark white as ever. But the other side has lost its pallidity. It has been basked in light over the decade, giving color to skin once bleached by the cellars. It warmed my heart at that first reunion, to see evidence of the change. My stony angel, lifted up into the sunlight.
But the other side…That wretched white, that ever-present obstacle. How I loathe it! I never wish to see it again! But the cold is still creeping, and it may very well be the last thing I see.
I whimper slightly, and he gazes down my body quickly, his mouth parting in silent question. His eyes meet mine once more, tears dripping down to my cheeks and blending with mine. I let go of his right arm, bringing my left hand up to cup his neck. His pulse was erratic and uneven, the opposite of my own steadily slowing beat. His left arm encircled me closer, his right tightened on my waist.
My words are breathed to him, my plea no stronger than a wisp of wind. But he heard me nonetheless. I truly believe I could have called to him from France and he would have heard me.
He pulls me against him, my body molding to his. His lips, oh! His lips! I've needed them! I need him! I will always need him! Please, don't let me go!
Suddenly something hard and rough-edged is scraping my upper lip. I wince away as he pulls back, shame and embarrassment coming into his eyes. I purse my lips slightly, wanting his again.
It takes only a small flick of my wrist. The porcelain clatters to the ground surrounding us.
His eyes widen, a shocked breath escaping his mouth. But I don't give him time to pull away further, to be angry.
"I've made a habit of that." I breathe the words on his lips before taking them once more.
I feel and hear his moan, a sob that he attempts to hold back. I wipe away a tear that has fallen over his ravaged right cheek, the cheek I have cupped lightly.
My lips part slightly, moving slowly across his. I feel his shaky breathing; his whole torso is shuddering, violently at times.
My arms are cold. They are like my legs, my feet… my torso. The weakness, the cold is winning. If not for my lips, still pressing against his, I would be still.
My arms have fallen away from him, but he only clutches me closer. Don't let me go. Oh, please, please, my love, let me die like this. In your arms, hearing your heartbeat. Your heartbeat… You have never written anything as beautiful as that…
I see only gray, a hazy shade that seems to morph and change around me. But I can still feel his lips, his breath fanning my face, his tears. I can still hear him when he gasps quietly, and I could have sworn I felt him jostle me slightly. But I cannot move my lips, cannot tell him to continue kissing me.
"No." Oh, my sweet love…
"No! Christine! Please, no." I am sorry, angel, so sorry.
"Wake up!" I think he is whispering still. He sounds so scared, as if any loud noise should make it official that I am beyond calling, beyond his summons.
"Wake up. Wake up. Do-do not leave me here. You cannot go, not yet," I hear a sob. "Not n-now."
Kiss me goodbye, my angel. Let that be my last memory...
My wish is only half granted. I feel his lips once more, but in quick, pressing movements.
"No." His lips. "No." His lips once more. "No!" And so he continues, for a few more.
But my last memory is not of his lips on mine. I hear him, right near my right ear, as he screams. His face is buried against my neck, I am sure. But I cannot feel him any longer. I can only hear his sob, which sounds as though it were torn from his soul.
He tears my soul with it.
I cannot feel him any longer. I want to reach out my arms again, to try to cling to him. No. Please! Not yet! Just a bit longer! I need you!
There is no reply. There is only gray, swirling about me.
I realize with a shock that it truly is too late. I must in fact be dead, because my body is no more. I feel no cold, nor do I feel pain. I am simply myself, existing. I hear something, someone. There is singing, beautiful singing. The most beautiful voice in eternity. I know and love it well.
Is this to be my heaven, then? To float in this state and hear his voice? Or is it my hell? To hear him, believe he is near, but be unable to touch him, talk with him, sing with him? I cannot decide whether to weep from joy or despair.
As I ponder this, his voice fades slightly, and fear and dread grip my soul.
"No!" My voice echoes in this abyss. "No! Stay with me! Do not leave me again!" The voice does not fade any further, but it does not return to its former volume.
"Please. Please! I will do anything! Only do not abandon me again! Stay with me! I cannot bear to be without you any longer…" My voice fades, and I try to focus only on his voice.
"Why?" The question echoes all around me and my heart leaps. This voice is not my own, or his. But I could still recall it, even in death.