She fights it — the dying of the light.
The stealing of her breath. The struggle that you and she agreed to.
And though she strains and resists. And though you must fight her with every ounce of your own dwindling strength. Just to keep her there.
To keep her pinned. To keep her smothered and trapped.
Breathless and weak.
When beneath you she has passed from this battle into dreams, every moment of her resistance you will cherish.
Cherish and dream of.
Dream of and cling to, from the day you inflicted that sweet revenge until, by age or infirmity, you are unable to grasp it or pull it to the fore.
Her struggling doing not but let you linger in her slow, suffocating defeat.