His words seemed to swim through my consciousness, a desperate cry. 

A tug at a tie. 

Then, a jerk. 

I was yanked - pulled back into my own senses. 

I woke up - my vision stirred. 

Against the fuzzy noise, a voice began to brighten and amplify. 

"Ego dimittere te! Ego dimittere te!" 

He chanted, over and over. His hand was a smoldering flicker, waving against my eyes. 

Reeling from the ledge. 

Snatched on the brink before falling. 

I blinked. His figure became clearer and more defined. The look on his face was panicked. 

I was waist-deep, kneeling in the water. A grip retracted. My hands lifted slowly. 

I stood up, staggering frantically over the stream's current and rocky, underwater ground. I tripped backward again, back down into the water. 

Above us, the trees' leaves rustled and its wood cracked and whined as it settled in the breeze. 

Darkness overtook the sky, along with the shine of the moon.

Something wasn't... right. 

Tom was reaching down, searching with his hands below the surface of the water - searching for something I could not see. When he finally hauled upwards, above the dark, shady water, the moon lit her face. Her hair settled, floating freely, her body drooped in his hold. 

"Star!" My voice broke. I tumbled over to get closer. Tom's hand came up and with it, I was thrust backwards, swept out of the stream and carried away by the gust of his flames. 

I struck a tree from behind and its branches reached like taunting limbs. They tugged and snapped in my wake. 

I fell headfirst, skidding into the dirt, leaves and twigs. When I looked up, he was staggering with her in his arms. He stumbled to the stream's edge, her loose weight anchoring him downwards. 

His footing was hefty and clumsy, knees buckling and arms giving out. His breath was short and rugged. 

I got up, moving closer, hurrying to her side. 

He turned her face gently. Her eyes were closed... almost as if she were just... sleeping. 

"Star?" He breathed. "Star, wake up."

No response. 

"Starship," He tried again. The wind whistled from above, filling the unsettling and still silence. "C'mon, Starship. Look at me... please." 

Not a flutter of her eyelids. 

Not even a twitch. 

He hissed, exhaling a breathy swear. 

I sunk to my weak knees, gravity pulling me down. 

Tom leaned over her, ear to her chest. He listened desperately. 

His eyebrows rose slowly, pupils shrinking - almost as if watching the adrenaline and sudden panic overtake him. 

He looked up at me. His stare was distant and cloudy. His angled ears fell. 

"She's... she's not breathing." He said, though his words became a gargled, shaken sound. 

I opened my mouth, to speak, to make a sound, but the words would've come. Instead, all I could do was shake my head. 

"She's not..." He repeated. 

For a moment, I froze. I looked up at him and hesitated. 

He wasn't going to like this - he really wasn't going to like this. 

But there was no time to think - no time to consider how he might feel. 

I inhaled, going down in an instant, leaning over her, our mouths connecting. 

His hands latched on, shoving me over. I stumbled back, catching myself on an elbow. When my eyes met his face, I could see the feverish blush rising, a frenzied, sheepish expression. 

"Get away from her!" He must've known his demand was irrational - completely trivial and insignificant, considering the current situation - because the second he said it, he shuffled back. 

I stared for a moment, not knowing what else to do. Then, I took his quiet nod as an indication. I leaned back over and continued, arms out in front of me, palms to her chest. I pressed down repeatedly, rhythmically. 

I paused. Another breath in. Another set of compressions. 

A pause. A breath. More compressions. 

Another pause. Another breath. Even more compressions. 

Another pause. Another breath...

I looked up at Tom. He hadn't moved in a long time. He stared with bulging eyes, staring. His flaming fists dug by his sides, uprooting the earth's soil. 

More compressions...

My arms began to grow sore and weak. My lungs ached. I began to feel light-headed. My own breath became shallow. The continuous exertion was ebbing to the bone. 

I shook my head. I couldn't go on anymore. 

He mirrored me. His head shook back, almost as if to share the telepathic thought. 

"No..." His voice quaked. "No." 

His voice altered. He stood, and something began to tremor from underneath. The trees began to groan and the wind began to shift and reverse. The current of the wind seemed to carry him, feet lifting above the ground. 

His body hung in the air, suspended by a ring of fire igniting from below him. 

Leaves kicked up and spun in a wind tunnel, almost as if some sort of opposing force or energy had broken gravity around them. 

I stepped back slowly. 

His chant was deafening and a growling, contorted noise. I couldn't understand his words. They were incoherent, lost in the echoes of the other layers of pitches.

Then, all at once, the leaves dissipated and he plummeted back down to the ground. His summoning circle of fire died and an outwards projectile wind rushed past me. 

The leaves settled, the trees cracked and whistled. 

Silence fell. I was about to approach him when he lifted his head above the deep pit he had created in the soil. 

"Tom..." My voice was quiet. I wasn't even sure if he heard it. 

Another silence passed before he turned, almost in a panic. 

"I - I can't find her." 

He got up swiftly, kneeling beside her once again, eyes set and focused. His resilience was startling. I tipped back, away from his reach. 

His movements were shaky and clumsy. With all his strength, he hoisted her up and into his arms. Her head fell into his chest and her legs dangled. He stood, taking a first step, yet he staggered and became unbalanced, dropping to one knee before retrying. He got up without another wasted second. 

Flames ignited before him, lighting the way. They shot upwards into the air, a doorway opening. He stepped through hastily. 

The portal was quick to close behind him. It began to shrink and close quickly, being swallowed up by the night. Its blinding beacon of light was becoming less and less. 

"Wait," My voice called out. 

I lunged forward, chasing after, diving towards the shriveling gateway of fire. 

I fell into the other side - into an endless, grand hall where the royal red carpet and flickering torches went on. A wave of heat surged through. The portal closed, stitched up, resealed into nothingness. 

"Help." His voice broke and crumbled into the grand void. He tried again, louder. "Someone - please! I need... I need a medic - someone." 

The pained noise was alarming. All I could do was stare and watch. His breath drew out rugged and sore. Star's arm slipped from her, hanging loose and swung while he paced and turned every which way. He shuffled and writhed to keep her in his arms, shaking from quickly waning strength. 

His calmness was gone. Panic and hysteria clung heavy, gripping and seizing. His eyes darted frantically around the Hall. His damaged voice carried throughout the corridors and open floors above. 

The sound was a haunting chill. 

"She's not breathing. Someone, any... anyone - please." 

A crowd stirred in wearily. Their own voices murmured, curiosity pulled them closer. Some were guards. Some were maids. And some were simply just servants.

The more they closed in around us, the more I found myself backing away from the uneasiness, their demonic faces and wandering eyes landing on me. I supposed they didn't see a lot of mortals in the Underworld, yet that didn't make it any easier. 

They seemed to gather, exchanging glances with one another, whispering amongst themselves. They appeared... unsure... as if they didn't know what to do.

But, they were all demons nonetheless - all of them, immortals. They did not know of the severity of death - they did not understand. 

In Tom's own blinding desperation, he had unknowingly tested them. Besides, he had to know - he was a demon too. There were no doctors, no medics, no healers or infirmaries. Medical supplies and traditional medicines were scarce - if not, nonexistent. 

He searched the crowd dizzily, looking for an answer in their unconfident, bewildered faces. They seemed to shrink and inch away from his approach. 

"Please..." He repeated. The word escaped his mouth with less urgency now, his resolve crippling. He turned to me, as if to finally notice my presence. 

My heart leaped at the motion. I froze in place, startled. My breath hitched. I thought he might start charging towards me. I winced, bracing myself for the hit. 

Yet, instead, he blinked, water filtering his eyes to a glassiness. He collapsed, plunging to the ground like an anchor. Her body fell with him, though she was the one to sink to the floor. 

Her legs laid flat, her upper body supported by Tom's possessive embrace. 

My fingers unraveled, my hand reaching out slowly. 

"Star?"

His head jerked up. His voice was sharp and resonant. 

"Don't you fucking touch her." 

My hand recoiled. I stepped back. 

His breathing became uneven, exhale shivering. His head bowed and he leaned into her, pulling her tighter into his arms. There was no tearing him apart from her. 

A tall, cloaked figure broke away from the crowd at last. Horns protruding through his dark hood. He kept his hands connected inside the cloak's large, bell sleeves. The Lucitor's royal family crest hung and swayed around his neck - a dark, red pentagram. 

The minister of the Underworld. 

Tom looked up. His face glistened in the light of the torches, wet with fresh tears. 

He bowed before Tom. 

"Master Thomas." He said. 

"Save her... please." His voice was no more than a croak. A quiet, desperate plea. 

The minister's finger came up and curled over, motioning for Tom to rise to his feet. 

He did so, yet not before giving Star one last glance and surrendering her from his hold. 

The minister's hands rose from his sleeves, revealing no flesh - only bone. His skeletal fingers twitched and curled, until they turned a vivid hue. Sparks of flames illuminating a blue essence. The more they scorched and flickered, the more I began to see it grow and swarm and enclose around her. 

The flames seemed to lift her and carry her. I was awed at the sight, how graceful she looked. The skirt of her dress rippled and her hair dispersed. 

She hung delicately, like a marionette on strings. 

Then, the minister's fire was extinguished. She drifted gently to the ground. Tom met her on the ground once again. 

He searched her face for a sign - maybe even an inhale. She remained still. 

"Star?" His hand cupped her face. 

"This vessel has no life force attached anymore, Master." There was no urgency in his tone.

This made Tom's head shoot upwards. His face dropped and shattered - I saw a muscle in his jaw tighten. 

"No..." His voice caught in his throat. "No, no, no, no! She can't... she's not-" 

Tom's head shook, clutching onto her motionless chest. "No." He whimpered. 

... 

The days that followed were a blending blur. 

I woke up in a sort of muddled distortion. My body felt... numb. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. I rubbed them aggressively and watched the ceiling spin and become spotty. 

My vision tunneled and everything seemed to melt away. Screams from self-tormented entities were a distant, droning noise. I lost sensation in my body and muscles, almost like I was drifting into emptiness... a sort of dullness.

Time somehow felt... distorted. The quiet and stillness of the moment felt as though it had measured and distanced the deafening commotion. 

It all just didn't feel... real. It was almost like it all happened in a hazy dream. Almost as if it happened many years ago. 

I forced myself up slowly, at last. My temples pricked behind my exhausted eyes. I exhaled, yet I didn't feel any better. 

I planned to leave that day. I didn't want to stay any longer. Yet, at the same time, I knew I couldn't go home. I couldn't stand the questions and attention. 

How was I supposed to tell them? How would I say it? 

Star isn't coming back. 

She's gone. 

I did it. 

It's all my fault. 

I paused, reeling myself back to the mirror I passed. I blinked again, hoping it was just the ambient lighting playing tricks. 

My pupils illuminated. Horns were coming through my hair, sprouting upwards. 

Maybe I was actually meant for the Underworld. Maybe this was my fate - my punishment. 

I realized I had been staring too long when an abnormally large hand gripped me by my shoulders, jostling me. 

"Your Highness requests your presence." The voice was growling and unfriendly. 

I was dragged down to the cathedral, through their massive doors and tossed in without hesitation. I tripped and stumbled over my own feet, trying to regain my footing from the aggressive shove. I tried to turn back the way I had come, tried to run, but the doors clamored shut. 

I stood for a moment. I didn't want to look. I knew he was there, behind me, watching me. I know he saw me - my entrance was anything but inconspicuous or subtle. 

"Marco," He said. I didn't budge. 

His fire engulfed, enveloped around me, carrying me up and away from the ground.

I floated through the cathedral, through the endless rows of benches and following the catwalk's rug. He was waiting there, at the altar. When I neared closer, I could finally see. 

His flames of transportation had extinguished and my feet stumbled back to the hard, solid ground. 

I couldn't look. I couldn't swallow my thick breath. I shook my head and bit my lip before it could break. 

Behind him, candles lit the surrounding platform, and flowers from the earth decorated her white, heavenly casket. 

In his hands, he held a rose, still smoldering at the edges of its charcoal petals. He placed it next to her, delicately. 

She was dressed in the colors of the Underworld - black and red. The style of the dress itself was one that kept to its true, demonic tradition. 

Dark laces tied her black corset around her torso. The open shoulder sleeves decorated her arms, draping into flowing, bell sleeves when they reached the hem. A Gothic Victorian-inspired collar wrapped around her small neck and stood out beyond the back of her head. Her hair was messily done - two high buns, and the baby hairs that stuck out in front of her ears had been braided. 

His face bowed in thought. The minister beside him was mumbling - a low, ancient, demonic prayer in a language that I couldn't understand. 

He took out another rose from behind his tux jacket. He offered it to me.

I looked away as quickly as I could, heading for the exit, back to where I'd come. 

It had all become too gut-wrenching.

It wasn't fair - it wasn't fair!

This wasn't Star's funeral - it was Tom's. He did this. He planned it all - her casket, her attire, her words of grace. 

And worst of all - he invited me. He invited me to mourn with him. 

It was all for him - just to make himself feel better. 

Star didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve the Underworld. 

I tore the doors open. 

They slammed shut behind me.