Whitebark Stream crawling back to you

hollowed gaze traces the sharp lines of his form, and she sees it then—his flame, waning, no longer a blaze of gold and fire, but a sputtering ember, struggling against the dark. a fire so hot that it'd consumed itself.
and somehow, she respects him for it.
softly, intimately, she speaks. she utters a confession. an unspoken truth never shared.
"you were to me as well, blackfell." 
and she turns away, the cool wind sweeping through her hair, the faintest trace of sorrow in her chest—not for him, but for what was never meant to be.