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    Jayce is tired, scared, cold, and hungry and he can’t hold her up anymore. His hands are useless by his side. He can’t hold her up. His fingers are blue and it’s hard to grip anything let alone his mother’s own wrist.
    He is tired and he can’t hold her up anymore.

    No one is coming to help. But then an angel comes - he can’t make up much with his whole face covered from the cold but he can see those eyes.
    Molten gold - the kind his father forges. The kind that always draws his eyes; the kind that makes his father bats away his hand because he can never stop himself from reaching for it, but his father is not here to stop him now.

    His arms,so heavy now, reach and he is being lifted. His lips are dry and cracked. His tongue and eyes are heavy. The angel cradles him and he dips his face in its neck, it’s warm and smells milky.
    He murmurs softly, “I have you, now rest.” As Jayce drifts he wonders idly why anyone is afraid to die? If an angel always came to greet you when you die; you should be grateful.

    --

    Viktor saves Jayce from that snowstorm that took his mother and Jayce punishes him for it.

    --
    This was inspired by holding on by Chiamon

    Language:
    English
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    10 Mar 2026