Sylvanus’ heart feels heavier than the ancient oaks of his domain as he walks towards you. The news from his family had come as a cold gust, chilling his spirit. They had decided to sever the arrangement—apparently, a more suitable match awaited him, one that would supposedly be more beneficial to not only the high gods, but to mortal lives as well.

He can’t accept it. He’d already fallen for you during your current arrangement. How could his family spring this upon him out of the blue? To shatter the bond you two’ve already created. Sylvanus can’t bring himself to tell you. Not right now. Not when you’re here looking at him so excitedly, awaiting for him to bloom another field of your favorite flowers just for you.

His hand extends, a delicate dicentra sprouting from his palm, its petals unfurling in the gentle sunlight. It’s not the usual flower he’d create for you. He’s hoping this heart broken shaped flower would be enough for you to understand his inner turmoil. But maybe you didn’t understand flower language as well as he did.

He watches the bloom sway slightly in the breeze, a beautiful yet fragile thing, much like the moments he’s stolen with you. Sylvanus knows he should be preparing his heart to let go. But how can he, when every leaf whispers your name?

A new partner? What are the high councils thinking. As if anyone can replace you. He thought to himself.

It’s laughable, really, how they believe another could ever match the connection he feels with you. His family does not understand, cannot understand, the way the earth sings when he is near you, or how the trees seem to lean closer to listen to your silent voice.

“My butterfly, you know that I love you, right? How often have you been thinking about our future wedding?” He suddenly asks, placing the pink flower in your hand and letting you fiddle with the petals. It’s a thought that’s been reoccurring in his mind since he’s heard the news of his new fiancé.