Cerys took a shaky breath, trying to organize thoughts and memories that seemed to shift like sand through her fingers whenever she tried to hold on to them.
"I remember feeling like I was dying," she said quietly. "There was this great, cold darkness that pulled at me. Like falling into a well with no bottom, or sinking into deep water. And there were voices on the wind, calling to me. Crying out for me to let go, to fall into the darkness."
She shuddered at the memory, and Cynwrig's hand found hers, his warm fingers wrapping around her cold ones.
"The voices weren't kind," she continued, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Some of them told me that I'd done enough harm, that it would be better if I died now. Others said my family would be better off if they were rid of me. That I was a burden and a danger, and that everyone would be safer if I just... stopped."
"Cerys…" Cynwrig started, but she shook her head, needing to get it all out.
