John would catch a glimpse of you in the corner of his eye. Your bloodied form, your raspy breaths, the whispered pleads from cold lips as you took one staggering step towards him and then disappeared.

He stood before your grave, a bouquet of hyacinths in hand. Tears swelled in his eyes as he reread your name for what felt like the tenth time.

“Ye were everything.” John bit his chapped lip, his throat burning. Why was he so afraid?

“But, please, leave me alone. I cannae do this anymore.”