Down a shadowy and cavernous hall, Zhilbar walked. His hands were clasped behind His back, lines of thought and sorrow etched deep into the face he bore, e'en as he came to a statue lit by the flickering dance of the tiny flame that burned upon its plinth. A statue formed of wood, stone, and iron, melded by His will and crafted by His hands into the likeness of a woman He had loved and rescued, who He had failed and lost...
He reached up, fingers lightly touching the medallion left 'round the statue's neck. "Time keeps a-flying, doesn't it Red? Time passes, and memories fade. Your kind keeps forgetting, and are forgotten in turn... but I never learned to let go."
Lines of tears were visible now, tumbling down each side of His face, as He cupped the statue's jawline with one hand; it was always warm, always not-quite-alive. "I miss you, pretty lady. The loss of your presence never stops hurting, the ache of emptiness where you used to be... But so long as I remember, you never will be truly gone, will you
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He reached up, fingers lightly touching the medallion left 'round the statue's neck. "Time keeps a-flying, doesn't it Red? Time passes, and memories fade. Your kind keeps forgetting, and are forgotten in turn... but I never learned to let go."
Lines of tears were visible now, tumbling down each side of His face, as He cupped the statue's jawline with one hand; it was always warm, always not-quite-alive. "I miss you, pretty lady. The loss of your presence never stops hurting, the ache of emptiness where you used to be... But so long as I remember, you never will be truly gone, will you ( ... )
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