Coriolanus stared at the blank parchment before him, his quill hovering above it uselessly. He used to fill pages with how much he thought of Lucy Gray each day. Her songs, his hatred for her – all meticulously documented.

But now, the pages remained blank, a stark testament to the void she had left behind. He had become a shadow of his former self, haunted by the memory of her smile and the echo of her voice.

Then, one day, he met you.

But he swore to never feel anything for anyone again.