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'"The dead don't rot as much as we do, you know."
She told me, watching me with those empty eyes, hollow and cold, the ones that seek to destroy me.
"Maybe."
I keep my eyes on her, I can never let her get too far away anymore,
" but the dead dont care if they rot, either. The difference, is that I do."
She narrows her eyes at this, as if disappointed by my response.
" Why did you get rid of me, if only to keep me from rotting afterwards?"
I smile, pressing my hand against her cheek. The glass is cold, and it reflects her image beautifully, my eyes staring back at me.
" Because I love you, of course." I brush her hair away from our eyes.
" But I must love me, first. So rot, you must."
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