From within, he removes the cardioid vessel which he hopes will keep him alive. A swift sharp knock on the apex sprays a shard here a splinter there. The vessel is now ready for the process. With jittering hands, he tilts the vial gently, till crimson flows to fill one vacuum to create another. The thin liquid quickly spreads out from the tip at one end to the curves opposite, until, fully occupying the cardioid, begins to leak out from the crack at the apex. He takes several shallow breaths, trying to carefully return the glass-cracked heart to its plinth.
She watches him walk back in, his skin pale as milk, stretched taut over his knuckles, sinew rippling in spasms. He sits next to her wordlessly, and responds to raised eyebrows with a shake of his head. She suspects something is wrong, but she never pushes him. These moments are fragile enough when shared without intrusion. Her fingers dig into his palm, and she draws them back to reveal red-tipped nails quivering in remorse.
Someday...she would pour this blood into his heart.