My Last Days

(The original poster of this story is >>1782407 on /vt/.)

>Imagine Rushia keeps ressurecting you out of love even though you just want to die and your soul eventually expires causing her to be unable to bring you back. Imagine how heartbreaking that would be for her

I know next to nothing about Rushia except she's soft and sweet but also a bit clingy. I also made my own lore for the post part because I don't know her lore. Sorry if this doesn't live up to your expectations.
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I'm back. Those are the first words that drift into my consciousness as I lie on the altar in Rushia's workshop. No longer having the energy to cough with any strength like I used to, I simply gurgle slightly on the vile mixture of blood, bile, drool and whatever ungodly tincture my wife thought to try this time to breathe some lifeblood back into my soul. Taking the time to move my tongue lazily about my mouth, I hope the slight sounds I make are enough to tell Rushia her most recent revival effort "succeeded".

As a man who lived in a world where science is the dominant medical craft over magic, I never knew just how much the soul contributed to the maintenance of the body. But from what I've picked up from Rushia's muttered ramblings as she desperately replaces my organs, without the soul the body will decay at an unnatural rate.
Due to being from a world without magic, my soul is almost pitifully weak compared to even a common villager from Rushia's world. I'm simply not capable of coming back repeatedly. Every revive takes a chunk of my soul to return my body to a functional state, but the window I spend alive is getting shorter and shorter as I run out of soul to give. I only made it through about six or seven meals before my heart failed this time. Even though Rushia has only been feeding me once a day recently, that means I only survived about a week. My time is running out, whether Rushia wants to admit it or not.

Judging by the sound of her stifling her sobs as she tries to make herself proper to welcome me back to the land of the living, I'm assuming Rushia is still in the "or not" stage. How she looks currently breaks my heart, despite her being behind my current condition. She seems unsteady on her feet as she walks toward me, the color all but gone from her previously rosy cheeks. Her hands are unusually icy, and from the looks of it she hasn't changed clothes or slept since my last death. I'm not familiar with what rituals she needs to perform to maintain her own body, but she seems to have halted them to keep a better eye on my condition. A bad cut she got peeling vegetables for a meal I had two week ago is still covered in a bloodied bandage, so her wounds are no longer healing. She seems to be suffering just as much as I am, just a little less visibly.

After a complete blood transfusion and a laundry list of restoration spells, she feels comfortable enough that none of my organs will immediately fail to make me a meal. I hear her shout at her undead minions from upstairs that the ingredients they found aren't nearly good enough for me. She's been taking out her frustrations on them, angry that she was unable to siphon energy from their souls and transplant it into mine. Whether that is even possible seems uncertain, as she has never heard of a necromancer capable of the feat. After relocating me to our bedroom via her most capable skeletons, she sits at my bedside and begins to spoonfeed me a mashed up version of my favorite food. I have long since lost my sense of taste, but I still take some comfort in her tender bedside manner as she smiles warmly and chatters on about our last vacation together when I was still in a condition to travel. The dialogue is a bit forced and she struggles to look me in the eye, but mealtime is when she is most like how she used to be.

As I listen to her talk about just how happy she was in the past, a tear wells up in my eye and rolls down my face. I used to be angry about the torture she has put me through, and told her as much when I could still speak, but I grew to understand just how scared she is to be alone. She is closer to sixteen centuries old than sixteen years old, and if what Marine once told me in a drunken stupor is true, she cannot die even if she wanted to. No matter what condition her body may be in Rushia's soul will persist in the world, fueled by her seemingly limitless magical energy. It is an unavoidable fact of the life of Uruha Rushia that she will see every person she has ever loved die.

Rushia seems to misinterpret the tear running down my face as an accusation against her, and she drops my meal on the floor before folding in on herself, quietly whispering, "I'm sorry" into her palms as her delicate shoulders begin to tremble. If only I could speak to her and tell her all is forgiven. I would like nothing more than to love my beloved as I used to. But I have to sit in silence as she tries to explain herself.

"I-I'm scared of death. Isn't that silly?" Despite the self deprecating giggle that punctuates her sentence, her voice is still hoarse and shaky.

"It's like a farmer scared of his cows. But it's true. I never needed to be scared of my own death, but other people? They're so…fragile, yet pretty. I just wanted to use my powers to preserve them, like drying flowers so they last longer. That's not wrong, is it? That's why I became a necromancer. I wanted the things I love to last as long as me." A bittersweet smile crosses her face as she says this.

"I've gotten rather good at it, haven't I? Flare, Noel, Pekora, Marine…I've brought my party members back plenty of times. They may not last forever, but they'll be around for a good long time. But you…" Her eyes slowly meander across my body, tracing the scars, bandages and atrophied muscles with her eyes.

"I've failed you. I can't save you, and I'm too scared to lose you. I'm just a girl scared to lose her first love. Can you forgive me?" She glances into my eyes, a shred of hope welling to the surface.

Despite my weakness, I'm prepared to make this right before I go. My vocal cords may be dried, but I have enough strength left in my thumb to move it with some effort. I point my eyes to it with as much intensity as I can muster, and Rushia picks up on the message quickly, placing my hand on her face. I used to trace letters on her cheek, little messages between the two of us nobody else would know. I start to trace the first hiragana I need for my message, but she shakes her head.

"I know your Japanese is slow, don't waste your energy. I learned English just for you".

I begin, unable to nod to show my agreement.

"I"
I can already feel my heart stop again.

"L"
I don't even have the energy for my hands to shake anymore.

"O"
If adrenaline works on the dying, let it fuel me.

"V"
My eyes can't stay open, they fall against my will.

"E"
I can't feel my hand, I just pray it hasn't fallen from her face.

"Y"
I'm past the point of no return, I'm spending my own soul to finish these last strokes.

"O"
It hurts, it hurts so much.

"U"
Let my last embers keep you warm, my love.


And then it all goes dark.