As the smoke dissipates, the sunlight glints off her golden hair, reflected in her unusual eyes. Even after weeks spent with her, they unnerve and intrigue me. I wonder if I could live as she does.
Would I even want to?
I look down at her anxious, grieving face, seeing so much written there – loss of a dear sister, fear for herself, worry for her friends and family, for me – and I know.
For her, I would.
"If we live through this, I'll follow you anywhere, woman."
Her smile – the first since Irina's death – is all I need to see.
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