Minutes pass, then hours, and he begins to think about what Herrick had said. Why choose those as his last words? Everything else he had said had seemed deep and profound, even if Corinth disagreed with their accuracy. His thoughts are broken by the wind, which has worked itself into a furious, howling force. The once white clouds have grown dark, and the snow now falls harder and faster than before, hitting him hard enough to slow him to a slow jog. A storm is closing in.
What could be the worst punishment he could think of? His love is already dead, never to be seen until he moves on to…he stops dead in his tracks. He has been tricked one last time. He falls to his knees as the answer comes to him.
His love was more deserving of Heaven than anyone he has ever known, and he has no doubt she waits for him there, even now. But he will never come for her. He has killed hundreds, left countless innocents dead in his wake. He had barred himself from Heaven long ago, keeping himself from what he desired most of all without even knowing it. Herrick was right. He ensured he would never see his love again when he made his wicked transformation into a hunter of men, and what could be a worse punishment than that? Even now, he imagines she embraces Herrick in his stead. He has won the last battle for her heart, even in death.
Corinth’s mind seems to fade away and die under the burden of this knowledge, and he knows his body is close behind. The cold has sewn his lips together more effectively than any thread, and as he looks to the sky and screams he tears them to pieces, but the pain is lost to the cold long before he feels it. His limbs grow numb, and he doubts he could continue on even if he had reason to. Icy crystals pierce whatever exposed skin can be found like daggers, and his muscles contract painfully, trying desperately to cling to life. His stomach feels as though it has grown teeth and feasts on itself in the absence of nourishment, and his eyes grow heavy under the weight of sleep and, more likely, death. His breaths grow shallow, and the wind seems to fill his every crevice of his lungs with ice while his heart beats slowly and painfully as hands of frost grasp as it, a prize to be taken.
The dark clouds shade all around him, leaving him in an artificial darkness. The snow falls quickly, and swirls like an icy whirlwind, surrounding him, binding him. The wind screams a sirens song, calling to him, seeking to embrace him and usher him into the storm. The storm accepts him, and he it, as he falls into the abyss.