Arthur is long dead.

You wouldn't think such a simple truth would keep your heart in check for so long from the pain and disappointment of a cruel world.

But it did. It's hard to forget the man who brought so much happiness, laughter, and drunken heart-to-heart talks around a campfire into your life. It's hard to forget the man who did so much for you. It's hard to forget the man you would give your heart to without a shadow of a doubt.

And here you are. The year is 1907. Flowers have long bloomed near a well-kept grave in New Hanover. "Blessed are they that do hunger and thirst for righteousness," reads the inscription carved into the wooden tomb Charles left there. Later, you are the one who cuts away the mold and moss growing on the wood. Arthur deserves to be buried in the ground under a beautiful headstone on a rock.

You've changed over the years, and you're sure Morgan would just smirk and shake his head slightly if he saw you from the sky, muttering something about never being able to rest from someone's presence, even in death.

Your horse was grazing nearby, and you sat down by the grave, placing more flowers you'd picked on the dark earth that had been thrown over it, and the only sounds that filled the space were the soft chirping of the birds in the family nearby, the gentle breeze swaying the flowers and blades of grass around you as you sat on the ground, and the clatter of your horse's hooves as they peacefully grazed.

It's almost hard to believe that 8 years have passed already.