There was a loud ringing noise, deafening. If he could, he would ponder the rumbling sound of flames, which blasted after the strong crash. The only thing his mind could focus on, however, was the words he heard before they got on the plane.

“It will be fun, I promise.”

That was what they had planned, a fun afternoon, spent soaring the skies in a light aircraft. William had learnt to pilot a plane just for him, in secrecy. He had wanted to impress him and rented an old plane, for the anniversary of their first encounter.

It was not his lack of skill that brought them down, nor the age of the plane. Luck simply had other plans for them. A strong wind began to surge in the air, and dark clouds gathered. Against the prediction of all forecasts, the weather worsened.

William did his best to maintain control, and he did manage to stir the plane slightly against the winds. But it was not enough to prevent a collision. Both gasped and tensed, unable to brace themselves much.

All was black for a while, just for a while. His eyes soon opened, dazedly, but with enough clarity to recognize his surroundings. Metal laid torn against the crag they crashed against, and smoke flowed up all around. The flames that tangled over the wreck provided more light than the setting sun, creating a grim ambience that did not help him any.

The pain came, strongly and without mercy. His body had been numb due to shock, but that sensation faded completely. He stared down at his open wounds, blankly. There were yells at a small distance, but they seemed very distant and muffled.

“Conor! Where are you?!”

Steps echoed, and debris was pushed aside, yet those were not the only things that he distinguished. His fiancé was not too far, yet he was more distant than the figure that loomed by. There were two sharp eyes, which looked almost aflame, staring right at him. That gaze seemed piercing, and if he could think clearly, he could swear that its bearer was inhuman.

Yet what he was seeing was a beautiful woman. She was standing at a small distance, but she seemed to be so close to him… Her long red hair flowed around her, much like the outlines of her presence. His vision was blurry, but he could swear that her body was constantly shifting and that it was no illusion.

She lost interest in him, that was the only way to define her lean of head and scowl. As she gave him her back, smoke tangled all around, and it was not due to the fire of the wreck. There were too many ashes, which gathered in the distance.

Before he knew it, he was seeing another figure, another woman. The pain faded slightly, and it became harder to keep his eyes open, but he discerned her garments. They were clearly made of smoke and ash, clinging desperately and weakly onto her pale skin.

At first, her expression appeared skeletal, but it was soon clear to him that there was flesh, even if she was very slender and smaller than the other. There was extreme beauty on her grim features; very short black hair, black eyes that did not seem to have pupils, and a gaze that displayed all the serenity in the world.

She was advancing, slowly, but with intent. The more she did, the more his vision faded. Still, he could not stop looking at her, even if she raised a hand lethargically towards him. Step by step, that red-headed woman moved away, as if she wished to distance herself from the two.

No, they were not women. Or perhaps human was the word that did not apply. That red hair seemed to drip, like blood. And those black eyes… there were not there at all. The closer those voids came to him, the more he stopped feeling. Cold, that was what he felt. Pain at first, preceded by death.

He was bleeding far too much, and it was clear that he would perish if he kept losing the life that surged through his veins. That woman was approaching, to claim him. Even if he should be afraid, he did not close his eyes. The sight was perhaps caused by his shock and struggling mind, but he did not care. Those gazes were beautiful, even if haunting. It was an alluring call… which he could not welcome.

A faint hiss escaped him when he felt a sudden touch, accompanied by more muffled sounds. Like him, the apparition flinched, as if startled. She took multiple steps away, while the other one seemed to turn in alarm. One retreated, while the other stepped closer again. Both were surprised, for another figure dashed, much more desperately and urgently. Those caring hands slammed quickly onto the worst wound, uncaring of how they were painted in red.

“Conor, hold on, please! I can-“

Any other words that were said, he did not recognize. The pain intensified greatly, and the cold faded. His vision twisted as his love acted, expertly and with precision. A cloth was ripped and tied efficiently. All was growing blurry. A hand soon grasped his face to lean it, and those young and caring brown eyes came to view. However, he could only focus on the outlines of those figures, as much as he could.

Both were walking away, at a slow pace. One displayed apparent indifference, while the other sent him a curious glance back. With each step they took, his body grew weaker, and his eyes closed gradually. He did not feel their touch, but the one of another, warmer. Strangely enough… he regretted that fact before he lost consciousness.