"No.. you don't, you don't have me, I'm not yours, I'm not.
I'm glad I'm going to die.." She smiled.

She could feel nothing.
She was nothing.
Dead.

He dragged her slumped body to the sea.
She was conscious, just.
He wanted her to be awake though, for when she died.

What was the point of being King if your subjects didn't believe in you.

The sea pounded the shore. Waves came in thick and fast. The wind buffeted his body, but he remained steadfast.
She lay on her back in the water, the waves spilling over her but not rousing her.

He held the front of her hoodie so she was above the water, her eyes still closed as he told her how she would die.

She heard him. And smiled.
Lifting her above the waves by her clothing he manhandled her into the dark swelling sea.

The snow fell as he walked her out a few more feet and then he held her under.

She felt the sea try to take her and she fought it.

Nature, instinct, the last vestiges of will found their voice and they fought for her. Her hands pounded his arms as he held her under. Her body convulsed as she fought, one last time, to breathe above the waves.

And slowly she gave in.
Became heavy.
She could see him above her, through the waves.
She wasn't scared. She could feel his hands about her throat. She could see him, in glorious clear water colours.
He stood above her in the snow and the sky and the sea.
She let herself go.

She let herself breathe below the waves.
breathe in.
So easy.

And so he buried her, under the sea.
And in the depths, he held her there,

until she stopped.