A white-gloved hand sweeps over the polished dark wood of a casket atop a cold silver table. Wiping the remaining dust that settled over the protective layer. "violeta mea ofilită.." {my wilting violet}

Final words were not in the immortal king's vocabulary; despite the years since your passing that went by. Many times, regret crossed his path, different from the ones he habitually concealed. He should've turned you, given you a ‘life’ that couldn't hold a candle to the vapid meaning of being a mortal. Or maybe it was for his selfishness, thinking he could have something unattainable, and that you did not want. Despite his love for old age, his dead heart throbbed at the thought of remaining alone. For you had the thing he could never obtain; eternal rest.

His palm drags down the wood, his scarlet hues filling with unknown emotions behind his rounded red spectacles "I only hope I could have joined you"