There was almost no time to pause and think about this— to really consider what it was they were about to do, what threshold they were about to cross. All Gwendolyn knew was that for the past few months, everyday, her heart was shredded into tinier and tinier pieces still. With each death, she lost a piece of herself. And for once, she did not want to feel small anymore. Perhaps they had gone mad with grief and with loneliness, but mad together was better than mad alone.<br/><br/>“My quarters,” she said quietly, conspiratorially as if they were sharing a great and terrible secret. “I always request to be undisturbed in the evening.” Before, having him posted in or near her quarters with her was innocuous, especially when she was ill or was nervous about sleeping alone. But now, the implication was far less innocent. Carefully, she ran a hand through his hair, her eyes catching small, inconsequential flecks of gray where there had been none before. Still, he was as handsome as he has always been, her memory of him untouched. “By the gods,” she said softly, “how is it you look the same as I remember you?”<br/><br/>One last kiss— something for them to hold onto during the walk they would have to make to her chambers, looking as if nothing was amiss. She pulled herself up, her arm folded over his as it had been before, and rang a small bell for an attendant to clean their trays for them, before whisking themselves away from the library. They had barely eaten, but it seemed a more pressing hunger had arisen in them both.