Tears are dripping down his cheeks as he keeps mumbling her name. She stands before his painting again, in front of the painting of the forgotten one. And she shouldn't. She shouldn't, she shouldn't, she shouldn't, she shouldn't – a weak yelp escapes his lips as he destroys one of the nearby vases. She should leave, she needs to leave, needs to go. She needs to leave him behind, the princess waiting for him, his pincess. He's dead. He's one of the monsters that chased them in this crazy gallery. He's not the one she's craving to remember, and he doesn't want her to. The little girl balances between the line of confusion and pure pain and he'd rather have her be confused for the rest of her life than have her realize that she lost him. She lost him. He's not coming back, not coming back, not coming back – never. It's over. She needs to go.
But she doesn't. And so, the broken man hides himself behind the brambles that surround his body and covers his gaze, so he doesn't have to look at those eyes filled with such love and hope, that it drives him crazy.
