"Wait a second, what did you say I was again?"

"A carnation," he replied softly against my forehead. "They're small, delicate, sweet-smelling," he placed a tiny kiss on my temple, "yet bold and vivacious."

"Mm," I agreed, grinning into his shirt.

"So what about me?" he wondered, leaning back to look at me. His eyes were jewels: vibrant jades boring into me. "What am I?"

"Well..." I puffed. "If you were a flower, I'd think you were a..." I pursed my lips, recalling all the flowers he once told me about.

"I think you would be a rose."

He looked intrigued, but didn't say anything. His eyes were the ones asking for an explanation.

"Well," I explained, "picking a rose is kind of like how I got to know you. Your petals attracted me to you, but then I pricked myself on your thorns. It wasn't until I knew just how to handle you that I really could," I said, a light simper on my face. "You let me in and I could see just how amazing you are."

"You don't know many flowers with thorns," he whispered mockingly.

"Well, what if I called you a cactus? Like, you've got flowers and they're pretty, but for the most part you're just a big, ugly, pain in the neck," I protested.

He smiled. It was one of those genuine smiles in which he actually shared his teeth. Mostly he preferred sly smirks and grins (if he happened to smile) where his lips would curve ever-so-slightly. This, however, was one of his real smiles.

My grip around him tightened as I thought. He entwined his fingers in mine, and I relished in the contact. This kind of closeness made my heart flutter, feverish. It warmed me up.

He then let go, turning his body away from me. His eyes evaded me, unable to make contact with mine. I pouted.

"Cam? Don't go," I whispered, reaching out and catching his hand. "Not yet."

He was silent, and that silence filled my heart. A sudden, strong force swept over me and relinquished me of my passion. I felt empty.

"Cam?"

My balance left me. Nothing was left in my arms, nor did his embrace steady me; I hitched and caught myself with an instinctive foot. He faded, dissipated into dust between my fingertips. I saw that dust, the only thing left, as the world around me closed up with blackness.

An eerie chill traveled up my spine.

"Cam!" I shouted, desperate.

When he did not reply, I knew why.

My eyes opened to drink the light of the real world. My heart felt heavy. However, as if some hope still existed inside of me, my hand instinctively touched the other side of the bed. I felt nothing. There was no presence there to hold onto. No gruff morning voice groaning a reluctant "good morning, love," in my ear.

If I had the choice, I might have chosen to live inside that black world of darkness; it was brighter than this one, where the man in my bed did not exist. The man who showered me with affections and flicked on the happiness inside of me no longer existed.

I felt, quite simply, like a rock. Everything passed by me as if my body had become heavy, rooted to the ground. In this stoic state I sat and watched the clouds pass.

It had been a month. I even had moved into Konohana to rid of the awful memories stuck inside my head. But they still lingered around me like ghosts – little ghosts, poking into my head and making me remember the things that brought tears to my eyes.

My feet touched the floor. The surface felt cold, and it abused my bare feet. I reached the coat rack across the room, pulled off one jacket I scarcely touched and threw it over my shoulders. I kicked my feet into tall boots. Clad in the same clothes I wore last night, a grey t-shirt and sweats, I pulled open the front door. Wind whipped me. I withdrew, now hearing the howl of wind around my walls.

"Goddess," I whispered. "Ah!"

My foot misplaced itself on the doorstep. The slight fall surprised my heart: it thundered in my chest.

Lazy, tired steps in these boots a size too big. Reality mocked me. Maybe it was safer for me to stay inside, but I couldn't. When I moved to this creaky village, I brought my favorite animals with me. The two cows and chickens allowed me to reside in my farm, supplying me with local milk and eggs. Recently, the stock had been piling up in my fridge.

I pushed into the autumn. Speckled leaves, damp, coated the ground around my house in a variety of colors. Beneath them puddles from the seasonal rain lingered. I stepped through them, sloshing the leaves across the ground. Mud caked on my boots. The sounds of rustling leaves and my suction cup boots filled the air.

Eventually, I found the barn and opened the door with dirty hands - I had taken a couple of slips along the way. The cows gave me moos of delight, happy to get their care for the day. They did not receive nearly as much tending as they used to, but they appeared enough sated with each passing day. Robin, the elder of the two, mooed with anticipation as I neared her. Dirt coated her hide, as I expected – she fondly sat on the ground and rolled around before sleep. I pushed past her where, on a nearby shelf, I fetched the brush and began grooming her. Mirabelle, the other of my cows, grumbled in envy and approached me as well. She, while very productive, rarely missed the opportunity to flaunt her attitude. It was one that demanded affections, unlike Robin who could find amusement hiding in the fence around the pasture.

An hour rolled by of tending to the cows and chickens. I found the hens nestled up in a high corner of the barn, away from their nests. They leered at me as I did my work and refused to move as I spread their feed. They yielded eggs, but I couldn't help but feel like they judged me from up there because when I looked at them, they never spoke to me like the cows did.

By the time the sun was coming up, I left the barn, leaving the doors ajar for the animals to venture into the pasture. Here, in the pasture, the mud did not clod and stick to my shoes, so I walked over to the gate, closed it behind me, and evasively stepped around the puddles that tormented the rest of the yard. Before I reached the house, clouds once again shrouded the little light Konohana ever received. I watched the fleeting light, no longer paying heed to my steps.

The field expanded over much of my land, much more than my last plot had. The light crawled over it to escape the ominous clouds above. Like always, it lost, swallowed up by the cumulonimbus masses.

When I looked out on the field, I felt anticipation. And yet the soil laid untouched; it swelled with nutrients collected from the raindrops and runoff.

It didn't matter.

My feet automatically brought me to the house. I didn't bother with the light, nor did I care for the dirtied coat and boots. I simply threw the items in a basket and stopped in front of the door, gazing out the glossy window.

I couldn't recall what exactly went through my head. It was a lot of things. I asked myself why I continued on.

It was because of my hope. A tiny, miniscule shred of hope inside me hoped he would come back. A shred of me knew I would feel that love again - he would bring it back to me.

I wanted the kisses, the touches, the hurt. I wanted Mondays to miss him, and the next days to relish in him. I wanted to bask in affections under his eyes. I wanted his plain, awful criticisms so I could brush them off and tell him he was a fool. I wanted him to seethe with anger. I wanted him to get mean.

But then the casket flashed in my mind. It brought a familiar lump to my throat and terrorized me until I was forced to tears because I couldn't breathe. Shaking, I fell to my knees into a nasty puddle of water I had dragged in with my boots.

I held the door for support, but nothing could hold back the wracking sobs, the utter insanity I felt inside of me. It haunted me, never left me alone, and never let me free.

I wanted my love. Goddess, I wanted him back so bad I would tear out my own heart to show him how much I loved him. I would show him nothing he did not enjoy, just as I wanted before. I would show him the best and only the best of me. Anything.

Anything wasn't good enough, I learned as I pounded on the door. When I stiffened, sore, I could no longer continue beating on the wood. My hands felt raw, abused. Good, but I couldn't go on anymore. I struggled to my feet and ripped the door open, holding back a fit of anxiety. I clenched my teeth together.

I was numb. I was cold. I was alone.

I was lost in frozen time. The rain trickled down forever. It left the ground spongy and miserable, and it made me sick. Just like every other time I reached this point, I fell into the moss. I couldn't cry anymore; the sky did that for me.

I just couldn't handle my heart. Pain struck through me like I had been shot. The wound was open, festering.

The rain dripped down harder, pouring back into the puddles I hoped would disappear. My clothes became sodden, my hair frigid as the cool breeze swept it across the bridge of my nose. I shivered. At least I had no more tears to shed; they would freeze as they ran down my face. Salty, pitiful icicles.

The clouds revealed the sun for a moment, and it beamed down, casting an evanescent warmth over me. The wind, however, swept this warmth away from me.

After a moment I felt myself being hoisted up by someone. Who, I could not fathom, but the arms felt very unfamiliar. They were not warm either. My heart instantly gave an erratic beat, alerting me to the danger.

They picked me up beneath my armpits and carried me back in the house. Inside, she set me on a chair at the dining room table. I released the breath I had been safeguarding within my chest, uneasy. She revealed herself, clad in hooded robes. She said nothing as she went to the closet and plucked a towel from the shelves.

"Lillian," she chided, tossing the towel at me.

Ina. Yes, I knew her. I had to speak with her to move into Konohana.

"It is of utmost importance that you take care of yourself," she explained, demanding. "I will not have my villagers sick."

I grimaced, lowering my head. My hair hung around my head in mats. A sickness would be easy, but no antibiotic existed to treat the way my heart felt broken. Cough syrup might dull the pain. Ibuprofen, even.

I lifted the towel to dry my hair when she came up to me and roughly tied it around my shoulders. My breath hitched, brow furrowed darkly.

"You will change into dry clothes," she stated, stern.

I obeyed, struck by her dominance. If I dared question her rule... My body, on autopilot, rose from its seat and wandered to the closet, where I picked a fresh pair of clothes. I did not hesitate to enter the bathroom and strip myself of the sodden fabrics. I left swatches of mud across the tile and all over the towel, but with her in my home, monitoring me, I had no other choice.

She did not belong here. My heart beat furiously, reminding me what was wrong with every passing second.

I took my time in the bathroom, hoping that she would leave. However, she waited me out, and I meekly stepped into the hallway to meet her gaze. Her eyes hosted power and control. I struggled to feel at ease under her glance. That alongside her commanding countenance and powerful vocal approach, I wilted in compliance.

"Lillian," she said, a little softer now. "I know this might not help, but I understand your pain."

I shook my head and threw my things in the laundry basket beside my bed. She grabbed for my arm. When I noticed it, I tore myself away, staring her down.

Don't touch me, I thought.

She knew she had made a mistake. For a moment she watched for the next move, but when I did not react, she whirled around to sit at the table.

"Sit."

I refused and continued standing. She sighed and began:

"I lost my husband years ago. When our son was an infant, a terrible infection befell his father. I could never see him for the worry that I would infect our child. I've had to survive this way without him. But we make it through because life is so much more than what you see right now."

I continued standing.

"Lillian, please, open your eyes. I used to get asked about your condition daily. Your friends want to see you, but you shut them out."

I would have shut Ina out too. No more talk of me, please, I hoped.

"Please, Lillian."

I shook my head.

"I can't," I whimpered.

Ina stared at me for a while. I averted my gaze.

"Think about yourself, Lillian," she reminded, gathering herself from the opposite side of the table.

She stayed for a while longer, giving me soft encouragements. I ignored the bulk of them, hoping at some point she would decide to leave. That blissful time eventually came.

"Oh, and Lillian? The Music Festival will be held tomorrow night in Town Hall. Someone mentioned to me a long time ago that you love live performances," she coaxed, a smile riding her lips.

My heart skipped a beat. She was speaking of Cam, no doubt.

"I will take my leave now. Please, keep yourself warm. Make some hot soup. I know Mako left some for you yesterday. Lillian... stay well. Goodbye."

Once the door shut, I was left alone again within the confines of my home. It smelled of rain, but inside, the air crackled with dryness. It eagerly nipped my bare skin. To combat it, I pressed my calves together and lowered my head.

Do not get sick, I felt her voice in my head say. Thoughts stirred in my mind - unwelcome thoughts. However, I found myself enticed.

It will never get better. Ina still missed her husband, and she was stronger than me.

I sat on the chair for what felt like ages. Outside, the rain trickled down. It collected in pools on my windows.

He will be gone. Forever.

I picked myself up and out of the chair, and I walked toward the bathroom. A surge of - what? - urgency pulsed through me. Anxiety. I felt like Ina could bust through the door at any moment, and it scared me. I was scared it wouldn't work. I swung the door open and abruptly stopped at the mirror.

Lately I scarcely paid heed to my appearance. I showered whenever necessary, and I always sat in the drizzle until the water ran cold. That was the extent of my beauty routine, and my face betrayed negligence. My skin lost its former luster. My eyes were swollen and dark from the aching exhaustion.

Uncaring, I rummaged through the cabinet behind the mirror. To find the pain pills where I imagined they would be was astounding. Maybe it could work yet. I spilled the entire contents onto the counter. Sixteen in all.

Could that be enough? My heart pulsed, hard. I brushed the lot of them off of the counter into the cup of my hand, and I looked up to the mirror.

Something felt wrong. This was too sudden, too fast. I felt eyes on me. Like on tiptoes, I turned around, searching the hallway and behind the shower curtain.

I saw him. Him. His visage appeared before me, a specter in the center of my view. His face looked alien, and yet I knew who it was with certainty. His face was covered in bloody tissues. The flesh had been pulled away in rags, and it hung down away from its original place. Down his chest had been mutilated, whatever covering it barely resembling cloth.

I couldn't tell if he was telling me no or anticipating what was to come. At any rate, I threw down my hand to the counter. The pills scattered across the granite, several of them bouncing onto the tile floor. His face had only flashed for a moment, but it was enough. My heart raced at light speeds.

I rocked back to touch the wall and tapped it with my knuckles. The texture scratched my skin, but feeling the palpable surface welcomed me.

That thing - monster - whatever it was, wasn't my love. There was no life to it; all I could feel was a steady wave of nothing off of it. It was an apparition. A simple apparition of him.

I was truly going crazy. Maybe. I tried desperately to clear the picture from my mind. I blinked repeatedly, rubbed my temples and shook my head.

Why else would the spirit visit me now? I swallowed, hard. I threw away the pills.

Later, I heated some soup and sipped it. It gave me comfort from chills as I sat at the counter, hands cupping the bowl to warm them. While the presence had vanished as soon as it had appeared, I felt uncomfortable in my skin, as if it was still watching me.

That night I crawled into bed with that certain disturbing image in my mind. As I imagined it, the picture grew increasingly sharper, cleaner. I cringed when I closed my eyes to it: mangled, disfigured proportions of a once body.

Sleep claimed me in the night despite. While beneath the covers, something gave me the comfort I longed for. However, whether the feeling originated from the specter or the soup... that I could not tell.


A/N: Ha, ha... One day of free writing and this is what I come up with. The name is crazy! Genius, how did I get this GOOD?! Jk... Please review! I promise I'll love you. 3 :)