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My death is growing closer, my love.

I can feel it—the darkness is pulling at me as though it has already decided I belong to it. Or perhaps I am being dramatic, and we will find a way to fix this and have an eternity together.

I want to fight it for you, my little drownling, but… if I am being honest, it feels inevitable… Peaceful, almost.

The pain that my death will leave you with is haunting me, love.

But I know that you are strong, and you will never be alone.

You cannot let the grief drown you, Lyra. Let the people who love you drag you back to the surface when you are too stubborn to swim up from the endless depths of grief.

After being alive for over a thousand years, I have learnt how to say goodbye.

Goodbyes are never easy. But I hope these words will be there for you when I cannot be.

I have loved you for over a thousand years, and still Little Drownling… I am devastated we won’t have a thousand more.

From the moment you pulled me from that shipwreck, my heart belonged to you.

And in this lifetime… I knew you were mine when you stared the Commander of Death in the face and instead of being scared, instead of trying to run, you threw your fucking food at me.

And while I will not have eternity with you, I am grateful for every fucking second. Finally allowing myself to love you was the best choice I have ever made, even knowing this curse would consume me.

I will be free from this curse… but dying is the easy part.

Being left behind is not, and I am so sorry that we do not have more time together.

Grief is love that never found a safe harbour. It wanders the sea, crashing against the ribs of those it left behind, wearing the sharpest edges of memory smooth with time—but never the love.

Until the sea swallows the stars, and the last wave breaks on the shore, I will be waiting for you...

Love,

Your Monster.

A wayward tear slipped down my cheek, staining the page as grief rose inside me like a sudden tide.

My chest tightened and the rancid air became too thin.

Rythos’ words blurred beneath the water gathering in my eyes.

No.

My fingers curled around the journal as panic clawed higher, searching desperately for somewhere to go.

Something you can feel. I imagined Helion’s voice as clearly as if he were crouched beside me in the dark, grounding me against the rising tide of panic.

I dragged my thumb slowly along the spine of the leather journal, concentrating on every imperfection beneath my fingertip. The tiny cracks time had carved into something Rythos had once held in his own hands.

Something you can see.

Darkness…

It stretched through the cell in endless shades of black, softening the stone until I could almost pretend I was falling into Rythos’ eyes again.

My breath caught.

Something you can smell.