How long has it been?

A year?

A decade?

A century?

Scaramouche couldn’t tell anymore.It had been far too long since the death of his late lover.

Immortality was a curse for him.You were taken away by the heavens centuries ago.Those memories of you were like a fever dream to him.

He had painted a portrait of you,a reminder on your pretty face that he once used to hold in his arms.

He could’ve never thought to see you again,standing there among the crowd of people.