Dis-to-teh-claimer: I don't own Lost odyssey but I do love it.

Side note: The interuption begins Ming's POV.

I made my way through the labyrinth like hallway of the castle, important papers in were ment to be handed to the queen, despite that she wished not to be disturbed. Every night she would remain in her study and asked not to be bothered. The whole kingdom could be under fire and she wouldn't leave that room. I was used to it and on some level I could understand why she did what she did.

I continued until I reached the door and paused before it. I hesitantly reached for the knob and opened it. The room was lit by only the light of the fire. The walls couldn't be seen beyond the large book cases that were covered from top to bottom with different tomes of various colors. A desk sat across from them with an empty, brown leather chair. Two scarlet velvet chairs sat infront of the fire place, each with their own identical side tables. On one of the small side tables was a glass of an unknown drink, alcohol probably or wine more likely. Of all the things in the room, the thing that caught my attention the most was the portrait above the mantal. It was a massive thing of about ten feet. It showed my grandmother, Ming queen of Numera, and her husband, Jansen. It was painted shortly after their wedding and the two were still in their marrital garments, in the picture that is.

Grandmother had remaind as youthful as the day it was painted. Grandfather, however, aged considerably and time took him some years ago. I don't really remember him. I was too young to, but grandmother told me stories of him, most ending hilariously. It was this room that he died in and I believe that was what was significant about it, not the portrait. despite the fact that it has remaind there for decades.

"Grandmother," I said after clearing my throat, "I know you don't wish to be bothered, but I have some important papers here that you need to see as soon as possible."

"Leave them on the desk," She replied with a tremble in her voice as if she had been crying, "I shall look at them later," she motioned to the desk with her hand. I walked to the desk and placed the documents on it. I looked at the back of the velvet chair and then turned to the door. I looked at the floor as I exited the room and when I walked down the hall I was filled with empathy for the queen.

..............................................................................................................................................................................................................

After my grandchild left, I returned my attention to the portrait of me and my late husband. My thoughts came to his final days. He had grown weaker and tired more easily. He coughed and weezed and became more and more sick. I still had a country to run and Jansen slept most of the day, but we managed to meet every night in this room. We would talk and laugh and remember the good times. we would remember of how we met and help save the world. Then remember our wedding. The first time we made love. The time we spent with our children. The most vivid of my memories was of the day he died.

We sat in our scarlet chairs and gazed at the fire. It was abnormally quiet that night. I think we both knew that our time together was coming to an end, truth be told we were both surprised that it lasted as long as it did. We held eachother's hand.

"I'll be leaving soon," Jansen said.

"I know," I replied, not looking at him because I know the sight of him will only make me cry.

"When I'm gone," He began, "It will hurt you at first and I'm sorry for that, but then time will pass and the pain will numb. Eventually, even your memories of me will fade and I'll be like a forgotton dream. A time will come when you'll find someone new and be happy again. I hope that sounded as good as it did in my head"

He let out a soft chuckle and I couldn't help but smile. He was far more poetic than his usual sarcastic nature. Maybe facing one's death does that to a person, Of course I wouldn't, and may never, know.

"Ming, I love you." He said. I finally look at him. His face was wrinkled. His eyes duller and less focused. His hair had become thin and grey.

"I love you too, Jansen," I reply in a whimpering voice as I held back the tears that tried to escape me. He exhaled a few more deep and tiring breaths, then his hand went limp in mine and he froze. I squeezed his hand harder in a desperate attempt to bring him back, but with no success.

I returned from my memories and gazed at the portrait of me and my late husband. So far Jansen's premanition has not come true, but the thing about immortals is that with the countless amount of time infront of them, things are bound to change. A fate that I dread to think about.

Author's notes: Heck ya! I love this one! of course it orginally was just the grand kid's POV but added Ming's later, a little worried that Jansen is a little OOC.