Valka
He shut down.
Like the mechanics of a machine breaking down until it completely ceases function. It was slow, beginning from the hands that gripped my cheeks. He recoiled from me. Flinched. His violet eyes dulled and emptied out. His face smoothed to something carved out of stone. He backed away from me, chest heaving. And I saw him battle to with breathing, saw him battle with disbelief. And confusion. And denial. I saw him battle with the different stages of grief that existed. With the realization that she was here.
And then, the rage came.
It was ice. It was a storm. I thought I knew fear. But he heaved one breath, curled straight from ice, and everything in the bedroom shattered. The glass walls. The wood cracked. The marble splintered and broke. The ice was in my veins, so cold, it burned. The ceramics shattered. The glass frames around the portraits he'd drawn up for me exploded.
