His memory palace is about to be burnt to the ground all over again, and there's nothing he can do about it. He sits in a corner and waits, flames licking the walls of his brain – strawberries and blood and expensive wine, all shattered to ash.
Too much, too little, too late. Another man will honor her all the days of her life, and he'll forever hold his peace.
Please, don't go, a pleading voice echoes in his mind. Then he thinks of golden curls sprawled over a white sheet – of fingers closing around a pulsing throat – and stays silent.
