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The last time I saw him, he was sick. Teetering over an edge I couldn't see, on the verge of tumbling in. He was cold, gaunt, all too pale. The shadows in his face evident. He tried to look at me, to give me one last saccharine smile before he met the end, so caught up in his love for me that he wished to spend his last moments giving me peace, but even that he could not manage. Not then. Not ever again. The last time I saw him, he was sick.
I missed him. Ached for ages. Held his body, whispered loss, screamed cries into empty world, desperate pleas that no one and nothing would ever hear.
He loved me. I think he loved me. I missed him so fiercely it hurt. And no one else ever thought to look. The last time I saw him, he was sick.
There was nothing without him. Nowhere. A profound emptiness that refused to answer my calls. It was like a cruel joke. I was alone. Empty, without his voice to guide me. The last time I saw him, he was sick.
I hated him, I think. For letting me get so close only to leave me like this. For becoming everything and then letting it wilt away so quickly neither of us had time to try and fix it. I hated him for his sickness. His rot. The way it spread to me, but never quite ate me up like it did him. I hated that he wouldn’t take me with him. I could not stand to be alone.
The rot festered in me, cold and dark and unforgiving. I cried and cried for weeks in the nothingness until finally, one day, I heard its call. Gentle whispers that wrapped around me and held me close. They said I could have him back, if I just listened. If I followed instructions. They surrounded me, louder and louder until I could no longer stop. The last time I saw him, he was sick.
Please understand that I didn’t know what I was doing! I was scared, grieving, confused! I didn’t know! I didn’t know and I did as I was told! I just… I needed him back! He was my everything! He became my everything! I could not live without him, and he refused to let me follow him into that blissful night! The last time I saw him, he was sick. I didn’t know what he was sick with, please! I didn’t know! He was sick, he was just so sick! I didn’t know what it would do! Please believe me, I didn’t know! I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean any of this, I had no idea! The last time I saw him, he was sick!
When he… when he came back he was wrong. He was him, but not. His eyes were blackened, just like his veins. It leaked from his lips like a poison, seeped into my soul and made real the rot he had spread to me. He moved wrong. His voice was wrong. He was back, and he was mine. And I loved him every second.
He got better, over time. Until I thought he was fine, until I believe I had nursed the rot from his soul by inviting it into mine. But then he got worse again.
He left me sick. And I chased his staggering steps to the ends of the earth until he collapsed in my arms a second time, teeth blackened by decay. And I held him and sobbed, having lost him not once, but twice. And the whispers came back and they sang. The last time I saw him, he was sick.
His screams haunt me, you know. I will never be free from these crimes I have committed. All I wanted was to keep him by my side, and in doing so I doomed us both. All I had to do was follow the notes in his book. He never wanted me to read it. Said it would hurt me if I did. I can see now what he meant by that. He did everything to keep me from it, when he still could. But the whispers guided me and I read the notes and I did the deeds and I brought him back to me. Once, twice, a thousand times. Every year, on the same night. He dies every year. And every year I bring him back. Like clockwork, every year I bring him back. But he is sick! Please! He was sick. The last time I saw him, he was sick.
I needed to save him, to pull him back from the void and hold him in my arms again. He was sick, but he was mine, and I could help him. I tried so hard to keep it from him. To make sure he never understood what I had done, what I continue to do. I love him too much for him to know what I’ve turned him into. But the last time I saw him, he was sick.
I can’t stop now. I can never stop. I am sick, but I can fight it’s grasp. It never takes me like it takes him. I love him. I love him so much. But the last time I saw him, he was sick.
And so, I took him to a field and we had a picnic together. Just one last time. He didn’t know, of course. He can never know. I love him. So I made his favorite foods, and I fed him when he couldn’t move well enough on his crutches to do it comfortably. We sat and we ate and he laughed and loved and I loved him. But the last time I saw him, he was sick. I had to help him.
I write this all because I have a very important job for you. You will not like it, but I have provided much more to you through these dark powers and this book than you could ever repay, so it only seems right you honor the first and last request I give you.
You see, I can feel that same bone deep rot in me, ancient and long brewing, beginning to bubble to the surface. I do not have much time left, but even still, I cannot let go of my beloved.
I know. I know I deserve nothing but flames and damnation for this. I have denied a man the very right to death. But his soul is tainted by my hand, and I cannot allow him to follow me down to the depths. I love him. He loves me! I will pay for my sins in the end, you can’t do this to him, not yet! He deserves to live!
He is sick. You’ve seen it. You see how he trembles, the way he clings to his crutches and the hollows of his eyes when he believes no one is looking. I have denied him anything close to normal, turned him into a monster, turned him into the divine. It is unforgivable, and I will not be forgiven, but you have to understand!
The first time I saw him, he was already dead.