But the name died in her throat.
There, half-buried beneath the wreckage, her mother lay motionless, her white hair fanned out in a tangled halo, her body limp in a grotesque parody of sleep.
The earth beneath her was black with blood, the fabric of her gown clinging to her skin in wet, rust-colored folds.
She had failed to notice before but as she looked around she found her lying beside Holse, her body half-buried beneath fallen stone, her face turned toward him even in the end.
One of her hands was outstretched too, as if their souls had refused to part, even as the world burned around them.
Alira's lips trembled.
"M-Mama?" A whisper, so fragile it barely left her mouth.
She crawled to her mother's side, fingers digging into the rubble, nails cracking as she clawed at the debris. Her small hands found her mother's sleeve, tugging weakly, as if she could rouse her from this nightmare.
"Mama… please… wake up… Mama?"
No response.
