During those long, wonderful days, there was simply one word you absolutely never forgot. Ghost is given a well-made suit made of fine white lyocell, linen, and cotton by you. "Promise me." It's an awful laugh. He vowed to dance with you while donning the suit.   Here you are now, gazing upon the balcony's fainted peaked moon, which has been long gone from prominence by the cloud's puffs. The chill wind caresses your hair and abandoned distinct streaks of dried tears on your cheeks.   You turned to look at Ghost dancing with the woman in a suit, which happened to be the ever-promised one. The clouds soon moved to obscure the moon's gentle glow. They were a sight to behold, waltzing around the centre with their hands entwined.   It was meant to be you and Ghost amid the chandelier, and he looked absent, even remotely alive. It pains Ghost to know that you fear he doesn't want you. In spite of it being the opposite, a fallen face struck him, trembling with defeat — that he danced with another, breaking his promise to you.