Yesterday, she would have said, without a doubt, that she loved him.
Yesterday, she would have given everything to save him.
Yesterday, she had tried everything to save him.
He was consumed by the fire in his blood. The scratching caws in his ear. The swaying personality he took on when the evil and the light fought underneath his skin.
He caused her pain and heartbreak, but still she followed after him; lost and afraid of being alone.
Yesterday. . . There was nothing she could do to stop the burning in his eyes.
A horrible red, his eyes.
A terrifying grin, showing his teeth.
White to black, a body of disease ridden feathers.
She expected the sword, but it did not  strike her neck.
She expected the light of hope, but she was left in darkness.
They were all she had, and she chased them away when she killed him.
Her father was right. . .
He laid dormant on her bed, the feathers slowly falling away to reveal his pale, blue skin. There was a knock but she refused to answer, a tap at the window that she refused to hear, she clasped the hand of her lover and held it to her chest; to her cold, still-beating heart.
When feathers turned to hair she brushed them away from his eyes. She would never see their golden warmth again, only the cold, harsh, pale pink flashed in her mind and she deserved to see it for it was all her fault.
“My prince.” She called to him, unbrushed hair falling against her cheeks. She had no mind to push it back. She shooed away the feathers and crawled up next to him, putting her hand on his empty chest; it was almost a comfort, but she became fond of the weak beating heart. He was almost alive again.
She wouldn’t let herself cry, for that was not an honor she would allow herself but she couldn’t stop the single tear that fell from her face, to his. And then, she couldn’t stop herself. She let go, heaving useless sobs over his lifeless body.
She did not deserve happiness.
Something glowed behind her, red and warm it made her stop. She looked behind her and saw the red silhouette she saw thousands of times before.
“You aren’t the prince.” She sat up, watching the ballerina come towards her. The princess put a hand on her face and wiped away the tears she let fall.
“No, I am not, but I am the last piece of his heart.”
“To him, I am what embodies hope, I have become his hope.”
“I can’t return you to his heart, only. . .”
“She has returned me, do not worry, I will go and his heart will be restored.”
“The raven’s blood has consumed him, but with his heart restored, he can still live.”
“What?” Her lip trembled, there was a spark of. . .
“You must do one thing.”
“You must love him with every ounce of your being, for love heals all wounds.”
“Yes, I will, I will love him!”
The princess nodded and returned to his heart. Rue watched and waited.
Waited for the warmth to return.
Waited for his eyes to open.
And when nothing happened, she kissed his lips, like a prince in a silly fairy tale, and walked to the window, no longer able to see him like this. A tear slipped down her face.
