Aldwynne Clarevant stood in front of a grave, staring blankly at the name engraved on the tombstone. The flowers laid at its foot felt like a symbol of the one whose voice could no longer be heard, whose face would gradually fade from others’ memories, and whose existence … would slowly be forgotten. That was simply how life worked; the living moved forward, leaving the dead behind.

That was how it should be—for most people, at least.

However, that did not seem to be the case for the man. He, shackled by regrets for the dead, could only swallow the words he never got to voice. The piled-up letters on his desk back in the office remained unopened, each with its wax seal still intact; no longer was he able to send his belated replies—should he ever get the courage to break them. After all, heaven did not offer a delivery service, and the dead could no longer pick up her pen.

He was lost in his own world, in the sorrow hidden behind his eyes, so much so that he did not notice another presence behind him. Arianne Primwell stood with her back against the tree, hidden behind its towering trunk. She had always believed that he was a man of few expressions. Yet this was unlike any of the expressions she had ever seen on his face. She wished she could bury what she had witnessed, just as the tree concealed her presence. However, it was already etched in her mind.

She saw the way his shoulders slumped when he always carried himself with immaculate composure. She noticed the way he stared blankly at the tombstone, not moving even an inch, as though he were looking past it. There was also the way his jaw clenched as if every unspoken word was caged behind his teeth—and it made her stomach churn unpleasantly.

It was not the sigh he let out when he scolded the children for sneaking out in the middle of the night, sending the guards into a panic.

Nor was it the faint frown that crossed his face after quietly drinking the overly sweet tea she had accidentally poured for him.

Those had been his usual expressions.

This was not.

It was something else.

Something far deeper.

Something painfully personal.                                   

And she did not know how to grasp it.

What did he feel in front of the gravestone? Was it grief that took over his emotions? They used to be close friends growing up together, so losing someone he used to know could stir up emotions others could not fathom, just like how sorrow stripped him of any rational thoughts.

Was it really grief, though? She had no answers, for she realized she only knew the surface he allowed her to swim in.

So perhaps she never would.

Time passed slowly as neither of them moved. They got lost in their own trains of thought, each with different stops and unknown destinations. Arianne snapped out of her thoughts upon seeing Aldwynne leave in the opposite direction. His long violet hair swayed in the afternoon breeze as he walked. His shoulders, though no longer slumped, were still stiff beneath the weight of emotions he carried alone. She was unable to tear her eyes off him until he was no longer in her sight.

Arianne let out a breath that she did not realize she held. The tension eased, although various scenarios lingered in her mind. She approached the tombstone as though she was pulled toward it—the very place where Aldwynne previously stood. Her gaze immediately fell upon the bouquet of white lilies that rested on its foot. She could tell from a glance that dewdrops were lingering on the petals, indicating the freshness of the flowers. Without realizing it, the grip on her own bouquet tightened.

“Someone beat me to it and gave you fresh flowers, huh?” Arianne chuckled as she gently laid down the bouquet beside Aldwynne’s. “And it’s your flowers, too…” Her tone shifted as though an unspoken thought nearly escaped her lips. Yet she brushed it aside.

Silence returned as she lowered her head, letting her long, wavy pink hair fall over her face. Her fingers interlocked in prayer. No. It would be a lie if she said her mind did not wander to what she had seen earlier, so, instead of praying, she ended up questioning the dead. “What am I even doing…?” she mumbled. How am I even thinking of questioning her when I should be praying for her peaceful rest?

She let out a sigh as her gaze rested on the tombstone. The breeze stirred gently in the quiet graveyard, as if it were on a mission to accompany her visit.

Lilianne Primwell.

The name was engraved clearly, untouched by time or weather.

“What am I supposed to do now…” she asked to no one in particular, letting the wind carry the petals along its vagrant course.