Despair

Noelle watched in horror as thick, black goo seeped from the cuts he had made on Thorne's body. His hands trembled, eyes blurring with unshed tears, but he refused to let them fall. The sight of Thorne struggling to stifle his screams tore at Noelle's heart, filling it with a bone-deep anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him.

What if I lose him? The thought clawed at Noelle's mind, relentless and unforgiving. Guilt surged through him like a tidal wave. He blamed himself for not noticing the signs sooner—Alphas were supposed to heal quickly, far faster than Thorne had been. He should have realized something was wrong. He should have known. The Veryn Root had only triggered the poison that had been lying dormant in Thorne's system, and now Noelle was left to grapple with the consequences.

His palms burned slightly from the heat of the knife he'd pulled straight from the fireplace, but he hardly registered the pain. His focus was entirely on Thorne, on the man who had become his everything. Thorne's face was contorted with pain, his body wracked with shudders as the poison was slowly purged from his system.

What if we have ended before we even got a chance?The thought terrified Noelle, more than anything he had ever faced. He couldn't lose Thorne—not now, not when they were just beginning to find something real between them. The very idea of a life without Thorne was too unbearable to contemplate. 

Noelle clenched his jaw, willing himself to stay strong.

Noelle's heart pounds in his chest as he rushes to fetch a bucket of water, his mind a whirl of fear and desperation. When he returns, he kneels beside Thorne, carefully dipping a cloth into the water before gently rinsing the goo-covered leg. His hands tremble as he works, the black substance oozing from the wounds, covering Thorne's chest and arms in the dark, sickly liquid. The process feels endless, each movement a battle against the fear that grips his body.

He knows he shouldn't be feeling like this—this immense, overwhelming affection for Thorne, especially in such a dire moment. It's illogical, unhelpful, and yet, seeing Thorne in such pain, hearing his low groans of agony, makes Noelle feel as if his heart is being ripped from his chest. His hands shake as he continues the task, trying to focus on the simple, repetitive action of wiping away the poison, but it's hard when emotions are flooding him, clouding his judgment.

Thorne's groans grow louder, more painful, as the black goo begins to seep out faster. The Veryn Root in his mouth glows faintly, the soft light reflected in the moonlight and the dim glow of the lamp beside them. It's a small, almost imperceptible change, but to Noelle, it's a sign—something, anything, that tells him Thorne is still fighting.

Though he's never been particularly religious, in that moment, Noelle finds himself praying to Elaris, the primary deity of omegas, a goddess he's only ever vaguely heard about from his mother. Elaris, please, he begs silently, his thoughts a desperate plea as he continues to wipe Thorne's body, his hands still trembling with fear.

*

Hours have crawled by, and the world around Noelle has transformed. The night has finally given way to the soft light of dawn, the first rays of the sunrise casting a gentle glow over the porch where he and Thorne have been struggling against the odds. But instead of bringing hope, the new day feels like a cruel reminder of time running out.

As Thorne suddenly collapses, his body crumpling onto the wooden porch with a sickening thud, Noelle's heart plummets. No. The word screams inside his mind, a desperate refusal to accept what he's seeing. 

He's at Thorne's side in an instant, hands trembling violently as he pushes away the sweat-soaked strands of hair from Thorne's pale face. His breath hitches in his throat as he carefully removes the now lifeless root from Thorne's mouth, his hands shaking so badly he nearly drops it. But Thorne doesn't move, doesn't stir, and the sight of his stillness shatters something deep within Noelle.

Tears well up in his eyes, spilling over uncontrollably as they fall onto Thorne's lifeless form. "Thorne..."His voice cracks, barely audible, thick with grief and disbelief. 

*This can't be happening.* The thought echoes in his mind, a futile denial as he wipes the tears from Thorne's face with trembling fingers. The sunrise should symbolize a new beginning, a promise of survival after a long night of agony. But as Thorne remains motionless on the porch, it feels like that promise has been cruelly snatched away.

Noelle's tears flow freely now, dripping onto Thorne's still chest as he presses his forehead against Thorne's, his body shaking with sobs. Desperation claws at him, a frantic need to do something, anything, to bring Thorne back. But there's nothing left to do but pray—a prayer he's already whispered a thousand times to a deity he barely knows.

The porch, once a place of peace and quiet, now feels like the scene of a terrible tragedy. Noelle's hands continue to tremble, his mind refusing to accept what his heart already knows. The sun rises higher, casting a warm glow over the world, but it feels unbearably cold to Noelle as he clings to Thorne, refusing to let go.