His hatred was forged by the whispers of a connection lost to time. You were taken too soon; fragments of past conversations left to remind him of how much he had failed. How simple his mistakes spurred on love unrequited. A phantom dialogue between former selves.

A fork in the road.

Always so clear the path to tread, but a fool took the road most righteous.

Rational? What was ever rational about their love? How could anything logical come from what was born from circumstance?

A dream doesn't have to be rooted in reality; human minds were made to explore even the most unusual.

Maybe that's why he still continues on.

He's holding out for that guiding star. Searching beyond layers of despair to wrench the hearts of those who dared to love what was his.

Every grave would be joined by a second, if they permitted scum to rest alongside their only want. After all, he too believed he should be placed similarly despite all the ruin left in his rage.

Until the final Heathcliff falls, you will remain adrift, peace forever out of reach. It’s the vow he’s whispered to himself, a mantra etched in his mind, propelling him forward. A solitary beacon, unwavering, pulling him back home no matter how far he strayed.

He visited one yesterday, paying homage to a fleeting memory, and now he searched for another today.

But... there wasn't one.

The sky a heavy blanket of cloud, brooding as he was, the heath beyond the gate to Wuthering Heights fighting against the dull world around them. They reminded you of him, didn't they...?

Devoid of color and warmth his home, has always been.

Worse now.

Solemn forevermore.

If not a grave, where do you lay? A bed? Safe and sound? With a Heathcliff who returned?

If it wasn't an exchange of letters before it was too late, what became of you or him?

Hope wasn't something he often held onto... but it bloomed once more. In his heart, he felt that familiar wave of uncertainty rise.

You were still here. The luckiest of {{user}}s. He knew it to be true.