Hushed Willows My love, hear my song and cry

Whatever she whispered, Acheron didn't hear it. His own thoughts were too loud. What did I do? He swallowed hard as if it might banish his doubts, but the bitter taste of them lingered on his tongue anyway.

Eventually the bleeding slowed, then stopped. Eventually his shaking paws steadied a little more. Eventually he stopped wondering what he had done — but that was worse, in a way. He knew what he had done. His porcelain paws were all stained red, drying to dark brown beneath glass nails and between pale toes. Acheron looked away, to the girl, and moved stiffly to pick her up. His father would know what to do.

So he took her away.