For as long as I could remember, the spirits were always by my side, guiding my actions towards the best paths. They would always be there no matter where I went, whispering secrets into my ears. Sometimes, it would be simple trivia; others, complaints and troubles. But there was one thing they never got wrong: death. They could pinpoint it with a precision that always frightened me They could pinpoint it with a precision that would always frightened me. It didn't matter what died or was about to die, as long as it happened they would let me know. Maybe that was one of the reasons I thought of them as my friends. They never lied, never failed, and always looked out for me. Or that's what I had believed for so long. Now, as I held my beloved's cold hand, his pale green skin covered in sweat, I wasn't so sure.

For the last couple of days, there's been one thing that they have been telling me over and over again, their voices ranging from sorrowful to defeated to grim.

"Death is coming for him," they would whisper with soft voices, sending shivers all over my skin where they touched me, "prepare yourself."

And no matter how many times I heard it, the words always made my throat dry out and my stomach burn with worry. Then the tears would come, running hot down my snout, filled with sadness and anger. My muffled sobs were echoed by the spirits, their numbing touch spreading throughout my body. All the while, despair hung around my mind, waiting to draw me into its embrace, to let the full weight of the pain land on my shoulders. It made me want to scream, shout in denial, proclaim I would save him, that our love would be stronger than this disease. Yet, I knew the truth. It coiled around my soul like a snake, squeezing the hope of it. The strong scent of rot and disease told me enough of the losing war inside his body. The thread of our bond was growing more strained by the day, the glow of life fleeing from his eyes.

Every sharp breath, every tremble that coursed his body, every cough that left his lips sunk like sharp fangs around my neck, cold and merciless. They reminded me my place in the world, the curse I had carried even before my birth. The twisting pain threatened to crumble the strong front I was putting for the sake of our children. Their watery eyes filled with an all too familiar fear, sobs wracking their bodies. Even now, I could hear them from across the door, the late hour of the morning doing nothing to assuage their pain or that of their kids. Two days had gone by like that. The wails, the empty promises and white lies, the cursing and the praying. It all became the background noise before the numbness of my mind.

My eyes fell on his face, his usual goofy expression twisted by a frown and a tense jaw. His soft snores interrupted at times by grunts and gasps. His scent was no longer the one I had grown to love, sharp and crisp like the mountains, instead it was mellow, acrid and sour, like the medicines that barely keep him alive. Suddenly, the snores where replaced by wheezing short breaths, his hand tightening around mine like iron while the other clutched the sheets for dear life. Black eyes met mine, pleading and desperate, tears threatening to fall. It shattered my heart into tiny pieces, freezing my body. His pained moan sunk into my mind like a dagger, breaking me out of the paralysis.

I brought his trembling hand towards my muzzle, grasping it in my furry hands while a prayer to the spirits rose from my lips. I ignited the fire in my heart, the taste of dirt on my tongue a clear sign of the magic and their help. Without a moment to lose, I focused on the spirit's numbing touch, guiding their burning magic up through my arms and then into him. A soft golden glow appeared in his hand as the blessing began to spread through his body. His illness was not one to take things in stride though, its frigid and stony presence opposed the warmth of the blessing at every turn, devouring it with greed. No matter how far I advanced, how much of my beloved's body I healed, there was always more of it waiting for me, so much more.

Moving too slowly for my tastes, the golden glow soon covered his whole arm and advanced into his chest. There the disease fought me with tooth and nail, forming an iron wall of cold intent. My own breathing came in pants, my body growing number as the magic took its toll on my body. My hands started to shake, darkness cropping the edges of my vision. There wasn't much time left, the spirits shouting warnings as I got closer to the edge but with one last push of golden light, the disease was pacified, sated for the time being. My orc's breaths became longer, less frantic. The fear receding in his coal orbs until it became but a dim glow. The edges of his lips turning upwards into a tired smile. I did my best to return his smile but my muscles burned in protest against the movement; the drain of the blessing weighted heavily on me. I gave his hand a comforting squeeze as I murmured my thanks to the spirits, tears running freely down my muzzle. I placed a tender kiss on his hands, the skin almost ice cold despite resting between my furred hands. The realization stabbed my heart. I forced down the nausea that was threatening to sink in. One hand let go of his hand and traced a path to his neck, cupping my husband's face with tender care. Careful of my horns I leaned in and touched our noses gently, bringing a soft laugh out of his mouth. The sound brought bittersweet tears to my eyes and clogged my throat with emotion. My fingers caressed his soft and sweaty skin, sweet nothings leaving my lips in a strained voice.

It didn't take long before he fell asleep again, soft snores filling the room once more, his hand still grasping mine. My will crumbled down then, like a house before an earthquake. The sour taste of despair clung to my tongue, the burning of exhaustion of my muscles clashing with the numbness in my heart. My shoulders rocked with every sob, the soft bed mercifully muffling the sounds.

The grim words of a faith spirit were the last nail in the coffin, reaffirming what I refused to acknowledge.

“This is the last time."