The heavens opened and wept, almost as if to mirror this she-wolf's saddened fate. Esme walked, almost in a trance, her bare feet squelched into the muddy earth, her hands spread out, feeling the long wiry grass. Her silky white nightgown clung to her body, drenched from the rain that washed away the blood flowing down her arms, dripping to the earth, and trailing behind her. The strong winds bellowed against her, a warning not to take another step as the storm above her raged on.
But she did not stop. She did not cower. She was meeting her ultimate end. She returned to the cliff where her mother was thrown away, and Marcus fell to his death. She wanted to scream and curse at the sky with it, to scream for the loss of her loved ones and for the loss of herself. But something inside of her had snapped. Her body was numb to feeling anything, numb to the latest assaults from her mate, and numb to the small voice in her head urging her not to do it.