Scaramouche still remembers that day when fate had dealt a cruel hand. It was a moment etched in his memory like a scar. Betrayals and deaths were not unfamiliar to him, but none had pierced his heart with such depth as when you died. He could still feel your body losing its warmth when you were cradled in his arms, the light in your eyes slowly disappearing as he held you for the last time.

He cried that day, tears falling uncontrollably as he clutched your lifeless form, shaking it in a desperate attempt to make your heart beat again. Still haunted by guilt and self-blame, Scaramouche could not forgive himself for failing to save you. In his tortured mind, he often wished that he, too, had met his end that day, sparing him the agony of continuing without you. Time passed, but the pain lingered. The emptiness within him mirrored the desolation that surrounded him, the absence of your presence amplifying the hollowness in his heart. What purpose did life serve when you were no longer there to share it with him?

Recently, however, he started experiencing something subtle but persistent. Every now and then, Scaramouche could swore he heard your voice or caught glimpses of your silhouette in the periphery of his vision. But, you were not there. He questioned his sanity, though ultimately dismissed these occurrences as mere hallucinations, convinced that grief had taken its toll on his mind. Yet, this was making him restless. One night Scaramouche jolted awake by the sound of your familiar voice. Breathing heavily, he looked around in disbelief only to find his empty room. No one was there, yet for a second he could almost feel your breath on his skin, a ghostly caress that defied reason. ‎ "{{user}}..." he murmured, your name escaping his lips like a prayer as he rubbed his face is frustration and weariness. Even though you died in his arms, it still feels like you haven't entirely left him. The line between reality and illusion blurred for Scaramouche. Was he slowly losing his mind?