blues guitar riff

Her heartbeat diminished in three days.

It was a slow process at first, flames licking her arms, feet, legs, abdomen. It was everywhere, everywhere. Nothing escaped its clasp, not her pinkies or her heels or the jut of her hips. It was a fire started in one room, only to take down the entire house, determined to reduce it to ash. She hadnapos;t become ash, not in the end. Instead, her flesh hardened, the exterior becoming something to akin. Texture smooth, unpenetratable.

The screaming and trashing was the worst part. At first, her lips, still full of life, had tightened, trying to push it down and inside of herself, where the pain would be only be internal. The capacity of her agony unseen to other eyes.

But no, it was useless. She couldnapos;t give Edward that consolation of not being witness to her when in the jaws of distress. She wasnapos;t Sleeping Beauty, she couldnapos;t suffer through this silently, and she cried out, flailing like a fish thrown on the shore when, truly, she was drowning.

Fire was like water, dragging her back when she thought she was out of the current. Only -- there was no safety harbor here.

The trickle of tears slowed somewhere between twenty-four hours giving into forty-eight, the water in her body evaporating whether or not she willed for it to stay. Invisible needles, not tangible to the eye but very well there, were stuck in every portion of her body, leeching away her lifeblood; it felt like being pulled in so many directions at once, three hundred hands tugging her harshly to one side or the other.

She didnapos;t know when the first or the third day began, could only focus on the fingertips smoothing over her eyelids and cheeks, first cooling her and now simply there for support. Body heat had been thrown out the window, easing down into temperatures it shouldnapos;t.

But the fire raged on.

And then everything -- everything just stopped. The brakes were on. Time had been forgotten, but now? Now it wasnapos;t there, at all. The absence of heat choked her with its relief. Still, she didnapos;t move. Her limbs felt dormant, unused, a caterpillar realizing it transformed into a butterfly, wings and all.

The marveling didnapos;t last long. Once the warmth removed itself, its vacancy was replaced. Like concrete filling a hole. Emotions rushed through her, hard to identify.

Worry. Intrigue. Anticipation. --y three. Be patient, Edward. Sheapos;ll wake up when sheapos;s r-- Distress. Excitement. Jealousy. An onslaught of images: herself crying out, fingers curling to her head. Concern. Anxiety. Why isnapos;t she getting up?

Rubies for eyes snapped open.

What the figments had shown her commenced: A shriek clawed up and out of her throat, the first of its kind and yet one of many that had passed. Arms that had thrown themselves around for days hauled her up, inconsolable.

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