The air smelled of rendered fat and old stone. We sat in the long hall of the manor, the tables groaning under the weight of silver and clay. I watched the light play on the surface of the wine. It was dark. It was deep. It was still.

"Look at her," Thomas whispered. His voice was low. It scraped against the silence. "Look at how she holds the cup."

I did not look at her. I looked at the path outside. It was narrow. It was pale. It cut through the frost. It led to the gate. It led to the end.

"Margaret," Thomas said. "Come here."

I moved. My bones clicked. They were stiff. They were cold. The years had settled into them. They were heavy. They were dense. I sat beside him. The fabric of my dress rustled. It was silk. It was white. It was stained.

"What is it?" I asked. My voice was thin. It was dry. It was mine.

"You are fading," he said. He did not look at me. He looked at the plate. "The skin. The eyes. The life is leaving you."

I touched my face. My fingers were pale. My fingers were long. They were trembling. "I am old," I said. "That is all."

"It is not all," he said. "It is the hollowing. It is the void."

The hall was loud. People laughed. People ate. They were alive. They were warm. They were bright. I was a shadow. I was a ghost. I was a memory.

"Go," he said. "Go to the path."

I stood. The chair scraped. The sound was sharp. It cut the air. I walked. I moved slowly. I moved carefully. I did not look back. I knew he was watching. I knew he was judging. I knew he was waiting.

I stepped out. The cold hit me. It was sharp. It was clean. It was real. I breathed. The air filled my lungs. It was thin. It was bitter. It was fresh.

The path was there. It stretched out. It was straight. It was white. It was made of chalk. It was made of bone. It was made of time. I began to walk. My feet sank into the snow. The snow was deep. The snow was soft. The snow was silent.

I walked. The trees loomed. They were bare. They were black. They were like fingers. They reached for the sky. They reached for me. I kept walking. The path narrowed. The path curved. The path hid.

I heard a voice. It was behind me. It was soft. It was sweet. It was familiar.

"Wait."

I stopped. I did not turn. I knew who it was. It was not Thomas. It was not a man. It was a thing. It was a presence. It was a weight.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I am the end," it said. "I am the rest. I am the peace."

I looked down. The path was gone. The snow was gone. There was only the dark. There was only the void. There was only me.

"Is this death?" I asked.

"Is this life?" it asked. "What is the difference?"

I thought about the hall. I thought about the wine. I thought about Thomas. I thought about the years. I thought about the pain. I thought about the fear. I thought about the loss.

"I am afraid," I said.

"Good," it said. "Fear is the last thing that holds you. Let it go."

I closed my eyes. I felt the cold. It moved into my chest. It moved into my bones. It moved into my mind. It was not pain. It was relief. It was release. It was peace.

I opened my eyes. I was back in the hall. The light was bright. The tables were full. The people were laughing. Thomas was there. He was smiling. He was holding the cup. He was looking at me.

"Did you find it?" he asked.

I looked at my hands. They were still. They were warm. They were alive. "I found nothing," I said. "I found the path."

He frowned. He was confused. He was angry. He was afraid. "You must come back," he said. "You must stay. You must be here."

"I am here," I said. "I am always here."

He stood. He came to me. He took my hand. His grip was tight. His grip was cold. His grip was final. "You are leaving," he said. "You are going to the edge. You are going to fall."

"I am not falling," I said. "I am stepping."

"I will not let you," he said. "I will hold you. I will keep you. I will save you."

I looked at him. I saw his face. I saw his eyes. I saw his fear. I saw his love. It was heavy. It was dark. It was a chain. It was a cage. It was a tomb.

"I cannot be saved," I said. "I cannot be kept. I am the path. I am the end. I am the silence."

He pulled. I did not move. I was still. I was solid. I was real. He pulled harder. He was strong. He was desperate. He was broken.

"Please," he said. "Please, Margaret. Do not go. Do not leave me. Do not die."

I felt the pull. It was strong. It was urgent. It was human. It was warm. It was alive. I wanted to stay. I wanted to live. I wanted to feel the pain. I wanted to feel the fear. I wanted to feel the love.

But the path was there. It was in my mind. It was in my soul. It was in my blood. It was calling. It was waiting. It was ready.

I let go.

His hand slipped. He fell. He hit the floor. The silver clattered. The wine spilled. The people screamed. The people ran. The hall was chaos. The hall was dark. The hall was dead.

I stood. I was alone. I was free. I was empty.

I walked to the door. I opened it. The cold rushed in. The snow rushed in. The silence rushed in.

I stepped out. The path was there. It was white. It was long. It was endless.

I began to walk. I walked slowly. I walked calmly. I walked peacefully.

The trees watched. The sky watched. The earth watched.

I did not look back. I did not look down. I did not look up. I looked forward. I looked into the light. I looked into the dark. I looked into the void.

I was the path. I was the boundary. I was the line. I was the edge.

I walked on. The snow buried my feet. The snow buried my legs. The snow buried my body.

The snow buried me.

The path remained. It was pale. It was white. It was silent. It was eternal.

It waited. It waited for the next. It waited for the next step. It waited for the next soul.

It was patient. It was cruel. It was kind.

It was the end.

I remembered the hall. I remembered the wine. I remembered Thomas. I remembered the fear. I remembered the love. It was a lie. It was a trap. It was a chain.

I was free.

The cold was warm. The dark was light. The silence was song.

I smiled. I was alone. I was no one. I was everything.

The path stretched on. It went into the mist. It went into the night. It went into the forever.

I walked. I walked. I walked.

The snow fell. It fell softly. It fell gently. It fell forever.

I was gone.

The path remained.

It was pale.

It was white.

It was silent.