Akira could feel her father’s magick pulling the curse from her blood. It hurt. Gods it hurt. Every single atom of her being felt as if it were being forcibly spilt into its base elements then slammed back together in the most violent of reactions possible. Yet, she couldn’t even find the strength to cry. She was so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of being strong. Just tired. She was dying. She knew it. Askel knew it. Hel, Freyja even knew it. But, every single person kept telling her: “Fight just a little longer, Akira.” Just a little longer. Just a little longer. Those four words just kept echoing around her. And she hated them. She hated everyone for saying them. She was done. She couldn’t find any reserve strength with which to fight. So she hated everyone for trying to make her fight. To make her hold on just a little longer. Didn’t they understand that she couldn’t hold on any longer? Didn’t they know just how hard it was to live with this curse eating her alive since she was 16? Didn’t they know what they were asking her to do by saying those four words? Of course they didn’t, or they sure as Hel wouldn’t be saying them. Akira knew her death would likely cause Loki to unravel and kill Prince Ehren but her body was finally giving up on her. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t hold on just a little bit longer. Her body had turned against itself. It was slowly but surely killing itself trying to fight the curse. The infection that Eir was trying to heal certainly didn’t help things either. But it didn’t really matter. She was dying. They all knew it. Fuck, she had said as much before she had stumbled to see Askel. So why couldn’t they just let her die? She wanted to die. She was sick of living like this. Gods, why couldn’t she just die?