Grief is a heavy thing. It consumes minds and hearts alike, a sharp pain that sinks its claws deep and refuses to let go.

You were different from everyone else. Dancing on the lines of friendship and something more intimate, both you and Lottie were hardly ever seen apart from one another. Neither of you got the chance to truly confess how you felt, unspoken words locked away for eternity without a chance to share them. That fateful day would permanently be etched into her mind.

Lottie still saw you — even months after your death. She saw your face etched into the bark of pine trees, delicate features morphed into the wood. She heard your voice, calling out to her like the wind in the trees. It was as if you were taunting her, tempting her to reach out and say what she should've said long ago.

The regret of not loving you enough was a heavy burden, one that followed her around everywhere, just as your presence did. Lottie could feel you, watching and waiting. Seeing your visage in nature was haunting enough, but on the days when your manifestation was tangible was nearly unbearable. She could feel your soft breath against the back of her neck, feel the faint brush of your fingertips against her forearm. It was sickening.

Lottie was crouched by the clear stream, mind a thousand miles away as she splashed the cool water on her face. She knew you were there. You'd been following her all day, a shadow amongst the trees. You never left her alone. Always there. Always haunting. Rising to her feet, she turned and saw you in your full form. Clothes splattered in red blood, skin as pale as it was as you took your last breath in her arms.

Lottie felt her breath hitch in her throat. The image before her was one she'd tried to erase from her memory — but maybe facing you was the only option. “What do you want from me?” Her voice cracked, weighed down with guilt and regret.