I've Died a Thousand Times

It had been a long time since Ezra felt warm.

He was afraid.

He could feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness and it was becoming difficult for him to distinguish what was his mind and what was reality. He wasn’t sure what to think anymore, what to feel, how to respond.

It no longer seemed to really matter. He couldn’t control his body anymore and even though he tried his hardest to open his eyes, he felt exhaustion and fatigue wrapping around his ankles and pulling him down.

There were moments where in the dungeons he was beyond cold, that his body was numb and he almost mistook it for being warm. . . what if this was the case? What if the marble tiles he saw were just part of a dream? Was he still stuck in the dungeons. . . slowly dying?

He felt like crying.

Ezra felt lost.

He hoped that things had change, that he could open his eyes and find himself somewhere warm, that the fingers he felt entwined in his hair were real.

There were many times Ezra had hoped and dreamed for this. . . but he was afraid to believe it was actually real.