Fog was hanging thickly over the tops of the trees, sinking down and filling the spaces below. The grey cloud blocked out the silver light of the moon, transforming the usually luscious green trees into spindly black pillars, they're branches looking more like deformed hands reaching out to catch unsuspecting prey.

But there was no unsuspecting prey in this forest.

It was devoid of life; birds and mammals alike had fled the place. And they could never return. The layers of razor-sharp thorns made sure of that. Previous attempts of curious animals had resulted in utter failure. Their blood stained the roses, and the more unfortunate, stubborn animals left behind much more than blood. Walking through the overgrown grass would prove that.

But nobody dared. Nobody even wanted to.

But the forest wasn't completely desolate. No, one person remained in this tangle of death and sorrow.

And that single person lived in the crumbling house directly in the centre of the forest. They never emerged from the house though, so nobody knew of their existence. Those who once knew of him thought of him as dead, long gone. But he wasn't. No, he was still alive. Just.

He was thin, oh so thin. His clothes hung off him, trailing behind him whenever he walked. But he rarely did move these days, his week body probably couldn't hold its own weight any longer. So he remained in the same room days on end, miraculously surviving without food or water. But he didn't need human necessities. Countries didn't really need those things to survive…

But he wasn't a country, not any more…

So there he was, knees pulled up to his chest and staring blankly into the silent darkness. Before him were two stuffed dolls, one male, one female, and half a dozen rusting metal nails.

The other 6 were buried into the latter doll, two in the head, one in each arm, and the final two pinning down her legs.

He picked up another nail, still staring into nothingness, and buried it in her chest. Had it had a heart, the organ would have been split directly down the middle.

How he wished he could do this to the real woman, not just a doll.

She had taken away his one true love, leaving him on the sidelines to watch them forget him and start a new life together. He despised her, loathed her, and wished she could experience the heartache he had suffered with for years.

He would end his miserable life, if only he had the courage.

So he clung to life, like a frightened child onto its parent's hand.

All he had to do was pick up one of those nails and bury it in his chest…

But instead of reaching for a nail, he reached for the untouched doll, and brought it before his eyes, surveying it for the millionth time.

And tears welled up for the billionth time, falling down his pale cheek and dropping to the floor with a splat, breaking the silence.

And one after the other fell, slowly pooling on the wooden floor, seeping through the cracks and falling into the dark. His vision was blurred, but he could see the doll perfectly. After all, he only had eyes for this one person, always had, and always will.

He had too, until she showed up.

And the promise of eternal love had been shattered.

He picked up another nail with his unoccupied hand and slid it into the other doll's body.

"I miss you" He cried, voice hoarse after being abandoned for so long. He stroked the doll's face with bony fingers, a tiny, pained smile making its way onto his chapped lips.

"Do you miss me?"

The question went unanswered; as it had done the last time he asked it. But this time he didn't have to watch them turn and walk away, leaving him to stand and cry pitifully.

The tears stopped falling abruptly, and he placed the doll down by his side, and picked up the other. The tips of the nails dug into his hand, but he ignored the pain. This was nothing compared to the pain he had suffered because of this woman.

He picked out a single brown strand of woollen hair, and pulled it out. He picked another, pulled it out, and kept at it, trying to release another bout of anger. But as his anger began to fade, it was replaced with sorrow, restoring him to his usual state. Pulling out the hairs one by one reminded him of the days he had spent picking the petals from flowers as a child, chanting 'He loves me, he loves me not' over and over. That had been before he confessed his feelings for him, and vice versa. And he had been so sure that nothing would go wrong between them…

This time, instead of 'He loves me, He loves me not', he chanted 'I hate you', over and over, more tears swelling and pouring over. The tips of the nails sank deeper every time he plucked a hair, but he continued to ignore the throbbing pain and the droplets of red that merged with the tears.

All he cared about was breaking this doll in as many ways as he could.

But when he had cleared half of her head, he realised that the majority of the fake hair was sticking to him.

And the nails in his hands kept the doll in place.

"Get off, get off!"

He flailed his arm, slipped, and hit his head off the floor. He twitched, and grabbed the doll, ripped it away, and threw it across the room, which seemed to grow darker and darker.

His head lolled to the right, and he reached out, picking up the doll to his right, and held it up. He reached with his other hand, pressed a bloody finger to its chest and drew the shaky outline of a heart, and smiled weakly.

"Even if you don't love me anymore," He whispered, holding the doll against his chest. "I still love you…"

His eyes closed slowly, pale lashes resting against his pallid cheeks, and heaved out a final breath, smile plastered to his face.

So in the end… he didn't have to pick up the nail, and he didn't have to bury it into his chest.

He didn't think about the doll, or the brunette who ruined his life. Nor did he think about the rusty nail buried in his head.

He thought of his beloved, and when they shared their first kisses together.

And when he faded, his smile didn't.