Alexa is softness and pale blue eyes and red blonde hair. Sorrow and frailty. Sometimes she is too weak to get out of the bed. Sometimes it‘s a struggle to keep up with her. But her smile is like the sun.
Her awe of the places they see strikes a chord in him; makes his breath catch in his breast.
Alexa is softness. She is all too clearly dying.
Her veins shine blue through her skin by the end. She is cold. Too cold. Her hand tightly grips his. It falls lifeless out of his as Death claims another one.