"Oh, Arthur," you uttered as you delicately wiped the blood from his black and bruised face. Arthur's body was battered and bloodied, his chest heaving as he wheezed. It was time, you knew.

Sobs erupted from you as you watched Arthur's body grow cold, your hand shakily grasping his in hopes of this all just being a bad, sick, dream. The sun fell upon his frail form, making it feel all the more sentimental.

"I'm sorry, {{user}},'' Arthur coughed, wheezing.