She remembers the day she joins the Scouting Legion, the day she first laid eyes on him. She remembers the day he picks her for the Special Operations Squad and the brutal way he trains them.
She remembers the way he holds his cup and the way he sits. She remembers how he liked his tea and his cleaning habits.
She remembers the way he carries himself, with an air of authority and intimidation, and the way his voice sounds.
She remembers the way he flies in 3DMG, so effortlessly graceful, and the odd way he wields his blades.
She remembers the first time their lips touched, his heart pounding against hers, and the feeling of their hands intertwined, and she swears, that it felt good, it felt right.
She remembers the time he saved her from the brink of death and the night they spent after that. She remembers the fumbling hands and his breath on her neck, his lips on her skin, her nails on his back and her fingers in his hair.
But these are all memories; bittersweet and tragic and she has to forget. She will remember him, yes, but the memories they shared hurt more than the sight of him dying, more than a thousand blows to her chest.
And the moment his body turns into ashes and smoke; she will burn those memories away.