He was falling, too deep, and too far. He could feel reality dissipating, evaporating, abandoning him completely — not that this dream had been real to begin with, but his grip on his emotions was slipping. At times it almost felt like he was swimming outside of his body, the chaotic spiderweb of his mind infected and feral, thrumming painfully and roaring in a crescendo. He could not make sense of it, of anything, of himself, and still the voices whispered their wicked little words. He could no longer hold back the onslaught of his heartbeat, its quivering rhythm as it picked up in speed, torn between something he didn't want to know and something so deep that it terrified him. It felt like the end of the world, which he had so narrowly escaped, was catching up with him after all, and was that a tremor he felt in the ground, or just his frenzied imagination? He tried to draw in deep breaths, to force his body into stillness and calm, but his throat felt blocked, as if only very little air slipped through to fill his lungs. His ears rotated, his body stiff as he tried to hide from her, even as she spoke: "To not dwell in sorrow and enjoy a new start to my life would be to leave this place and its inhabitants forever." He had no words to say, no sense or wisdom to impart on her, for he was drowning in himself.

She leaned even closer, and through the haze of his existence could he feel her, the soft white hairs, the firmness of her muscles, the warmth of her body — the smell of her skin, of her mane. Of her. Was it real, or just a figment of his imagination, a memory trapped somewhere deep in his mind? Sometimes we need to be selfish he wanted to tell her, but he could not find his tongue, or remember how to shape the concept of a thought into words. A harsh wind blew, bringing the scent of snow, and stubbornly he refused to acknowledge the truth. Instead, he pressed closer to her, as if afraid, and seeking shelter with her, but how can one escape the inevitable? The glow of his aura faded, the cracks in his body winked out one after another as if he slipped on a second, perfect skin. Closer and closer the nightmare came, a sense of urgency filling his mind and soul, terror roaring from the depths of his heart. He did not want to wake up. He wanted to stay here forever, where he could ignore every doubt which clung to him, and ignore every wrong he had ever done. What twisted, perverse game was this, where he was to meet her, untainted of her memories of what he had allowed to happen to her? Where his own will gave way, and (unwanted) truth started to worm its way into his life?

The ground was breaking again.

"Perhaps we will find a way out..." No, his mind screamed, we won't. The moment her voice faded into silence a deep groan reverberated through the world, rocked up his legs as a deep rift of gold split the world. It sucked the brilliance out of him, the glow of his eyes dulling, fading, even as the nightmare howled and shrieked, pushed away by this sudden onslaught of light. It blinded him, too, and he flung his head aside. The fissure clawed its way closer, splitting rocks and tumbling them into its depth, slowly tearing the world apart — with another earth-deep boom another gap of gold opened, yawning at the world. Skittish and restless, Mauja danced aside from Ophelia, as if to flee, but a sheet of gold and a crumble of the ground had him shying back again. The glow bled out from his eyes until they were nothing but icy blue, panicked and blanked; he'd given up on being sensible and sane, given up on staying calm. He couldn't, not when it felt like his soul was being torn from his body.

From afar came an air-splitting cry, a shriek which blazed a path through the shadowy hordes of ghouls, and on wings guided by desperation the pale shape of Irma swept in. The crevices hemmed him in on all sides but one, the hungry erosion of the world nearly at his hooves, and for a moment of lucidity his head snapped around, to look at her. Sincerity and fear battled for dominion in his intense gaze, and as the final crack, the final geyser of gold, split the ground between them, he told her through the sparks and rays of gilded light, "I have damned myself."

The next moment Irma's talons latched onto his poll, and together they spiraled into oblivion, falling through the hole in the world blazed with gold.

Upon a Frostbreath the world today did not know, Mauja's icy blue eyes slowly slipped open, and stared at a pale sunrise devoid of life.