''Tears are how the heart speaks when your lips cannot describe how much you've been hurt.''
(~)
July 4th, X791, The 4th day of the Grand Magic Games
Sting was visiting Weisslogia's grave, as he had done all this week, not caring that Weisslogia wasn't buried there, but, it felt right, making a grave, a marking, for his dragon, his father. Rogue silently left after bowing to Skiadrum's grave, murmuring a silent prayer. His mind flitted to Lector. Was he okay? Was he hurt? Before mourning for his one and only parent again. It was near the witching hour, no one was visiting any of the deceased. Or so he thought. Following the sound of muffled sobs, he cautiously walked towards a blonde girl, dressed in the richest of fabrics, draped in silks and satins. She was kneeling inbetween two graves, Jude and Layla Heartfilia's graves, biting her lip to keep from wailing, tears gathering in her eyes, seconds from falling. She had a maintained, doll-like body. A broken porcelain doll. That was what she was.
"Are you okay?" As soon as he asked it, he mentally slapped himself. Of course she wasn't okay, if she was, why would she -almost- be crying? He smelt the salty aroma of tears, he could feel the depressing aura around her.
"I'm fine." If he hadn't heard her heartbeat quickening and saw her near tears, he would've believed her. He just gave her a skeptical look.
Suddenly, the girl chuckled.
"What type of pain are you in? You're chuckling, weren't you just about to cry?" Sting questioned.
Great job, Sting. Remind the girl that she's distraught. His mouth obviously had a mind of it's own. Not that he wasn't wondering why himself, but it was rude. Weisslogia had taught him better than that.
"The worst kind of pain, when you smile just to keep the tears from falling."
After hearing her words, Sting knew who she was immediately. But he didn't care.
His arrogant, cocky, stone facade cracked and crumbled into little pieces, his heart ached, more than he'd like to admit, for her, the little blonde doll. He knew what she was going through, he saw it in her big, brown eyes. The pain of losing her everything, losing the ones who made her laugh, the ones who guided her through every twist and turn in life. And she never appreciated them until they were gone. And yet the world moved on. Without the physical existence of those life-changing angels. No matter how much they kept those significant people in their memories and on their brain, they would never live, laugh, love, or cry again. They both knew it, they both felt it. He hugged her, encasing her in his arms. Thinking about Weisslogia, he released his own sobs, not caring if the world heard.
They both silently agreed to meet again tommorow, to share their sorrow with someone who understood, someone who took their pain along with their own.
Tommorow, they would have to go back to being enemies, but during the night, hidden under the cloak of darkness, they could be anything they wanted to be.