Where had he gone wrong? Where had he slipped up—where had he let things get so far ahead of him that he had ended up in such a low and despicable position? Why did it have to end like this?

Sinbad groaned as he hit his head against the cold stone walls, hoping that the impact might provide the answers. These questions had been daunting him, with nothing around to take him away from them. There was the routine footstep of guards as they walked between the cells, keeping the inmates in check. There was the occasional gull that flew by his window, gliding on the gentle breeze that weaved between the bars and taunted him with the salty scent of the sea. Every so often, there was the high pitched scream of an inmate as guards pulled him to his death—the screech bouncing off the stone walls and making its way into every room. He was never able to see these men, the window in the thick wooden door too small to see much of anything. Sometimes the nights were just cold enough where he could listen to the music of water as the dew dripped off the walls. Far, far off in the distance, he could hear the low roar of the sea calling to him, begging for him to rejoin it.

He held his head in his hands, wanting to escape from it all. Just for a moment, he wanted to be numb, to let things pass by unnoticed until he was the man screaming as he was carried to his death. Just a moment of quiet, where he could block away the sounds of the world and the voice in his head that screamed and shouted at him. He had screwed up, and it constantly reminded him of that.

She probably hated him. Maybe she burned everything that reminded her of him, flew into a fury at the very mentioning of his name. It had been so long since they had last been together—perhaps she had forgotten him completely. After all, why would she ever want to remember a man who had lied to her—a man who now sat in prison and spent every day wallowing in misery and praying that it was his last.

There was no hope for him—not here. He had to pay for his crimes and accept the punishment dealt to him by fate. Destiny had given him everything, only to take it away with such rage and force that it left him reeling.

A soft scent carried on the wind as it snuck into the window and curled around him. The light taste of cinnamon, resting upon the sweet fragrance of blossoms. Of the very blossoms that he had given her from her birthday, of the one that she had put in her thick curls and danced around with. The very scent that she carried, that he would take in like a drug as he brought her close. The scent that he craved—the one that now seemed so far from his reach.

He closed his eyes as he pressed his back against the chilled wall. There was no point fighting it, no point trying to escape. With a sigh, he let himself be engulfed by the wave of memories.