The Hollowing of a Man

At first, it hurt—but this pain was different. It struck like breath stolen in the instant before a scream. She didn’t just wound him—she robbed him of even his pain. What remained wasn’t sorrow, but hollowness. Not even a hole; a hole is something. Inside, there was nothing. An endless, echoing void. It felt hollow, like there was nothing left to hurt. A wound so deep, it had forgotten how to bleed.