If there was one regret he had, it was being ignorant. Perhaps that was how the universe simply worked, how the path of space and the flow of time had always decided he would be. Was he endangering those who listened? Yes, he was. So many had died in his name, for what cause? All he'd ever done was speak his thoughts, his beliefs, that which could improve the happiness of so, so many around him if it were reality for Alternia. And he knew such could come about if the change happened, he had seen it with his own eyes.
All he was rewarded with was death.
He had to wade through the bodies of those who took action, those who fought and tried so, so hard.
And, at the time of his own death, he could not even be held by his love, let alone hold her, nor his lusus, nor even his closest companion.
The first thing he did when he realised he was dead was begin to mourn. He would not cry, he was no victim - But memories assaulted him, dreambubbles were horrid places of recollection and, eventually, he broke. He'd been reaching out, trying to grab ahold of the yellowblood's hand, chest tight and eyes burning. The entire vision flitted away from him and, suddenly, there was no air to breathe, only screams to tear his throat.
It went on for a long, long time.
At first, he thought this was another death entity, a more intelligent haunt of his life, his mistakes.
The man who threw himself against the Sufferer and smacked him then kissed it better was no phantom and, for that, he was grateful.
Peace came in the form of quiet talks and clutching grasps, though, as peace usually does, it went in the form of confused shouts and panicked searching. Once more, they were left alone. What had happened, neither knew - Dreambubbles had the tendency to do odd things, separating and introducing and such.
The memories came back to him.
Death replayed itself upon him endlessly.
Eternally, he was left alone with ghosts of that which he loved and lost.
He'd never even told him he loved him.