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It was over.
He opened his eyes. The room, pristine and orderly, seemed unaware of the vortex of swirling energy that had filled it moments before - even the incense still burned, unperturbed. It was if it had never happened. He slowly blinked and looked down, expecting the worst.
And had it confirmed. He felt for a beat, and it was slowing further. She had minutes, if not less.
He swore loudly, which brought the mother into the room. She ran to her child, seeing her in the same grey state, and began to wail. There had to be something he could do. There had to be something.
Damnit. He had hoped, even though he shouldn't have, that a miracle would have saved her. The gods had to have some sense of compassion, some sense of...
His body needed rest. Several days. Before that though, he needed to help the mother.
She was talking. "Couldn't you try again? Couldn't you... use some of these things?" She gestured at his shelf, her rational mind probably realising it was futile. "You only used three, couldn't you use more?"
"I'm sorry." It was barely a whisper.
"But, how about this, couldn't you?" Sobbing, she reached to the shelf, cradling her child in the other arm, picking up a bottle. Zach reached over and pulled it from her relenting fingers, as she bent forward over the child, wrapping her arms around her.
He came forward, bringing his arms around the both of them, and they stood like that as the girl's heart slowed, and stopped.