-1It was really rather cold outside to be roaming around without proper winter attire. There again, this visit was rather impromptu, but in the end that only served as an excuse. Besides, the cold never touched him. To him, the chill didn't matter. To him, it did not exist. Nothing did.
Save for this.
He stood quietly and unmoving as a statue, the viscous breeze sweeping and batting at his flimsy cloak his long blond hair. He was dressed in solid black, from the thigh-high leather boots, silk pants, and shirt embroidered ever so lighting about the neck and cuffs in gold. His cloak, left open was of a fine wool, shielding only his back from the cutting wind.
Not that it made a difference. He longed to feel the cold. At least then he could have felt something, anything.
His face was beautiful, almost feminine it seemed, especially when he was younger, but now he looked regale, angelic, no longer cherubic, but a man at last. His nose came to an ever elegant point, a graceful cupid's bow outlined his full lips. Once his eyes had been a brilliant sparkling blue, earning the attentions of all the women, and a fair number of men with the way he seemed to gaze into one's very soul.
Those days had passed, now. As it was his eyes were a dull grey, shadowed by grief and cruel wisdom, unexpected in one so young. His eyes were sunken and almost unseeing. He no longer looked at someone and saw them. No, now he only looked through them.
His long hair was once well kept; always slightly oiled so that it gave off a most aristocratic shimmer, it swept back from his clean straight hairline and turned in mannered curls at his shoulders. Unfortunately that had given way to straight, white, lifeless locks.
He sniffed as a gust of wind carried snow to his face. No cold, not even a touch. He just knew the snow was there, impeding his path, and it irritated him.
He pulled his wand out of his hidden cloak pocket and with a flick of his wrist the wind died down immediately as a pocket of stillness surrounded him and the gravestone he stood in front of.
Why? he thought. Why did it come to this? He sighed aloud, tasting the liquor that clung to his tongue and breath. He sighed again, it was as if breathing didn't matter anymore. Truth be told, it doesn't, he thought.
He had loved her. The simplicity of it bore down on him like mountain. He felt so tired. Hell, but he had loved her; still loved her, he knew. Now she was gone.
Tears welled up in his eyes and traced hot rivers down his cheeks. Were they hot, or are they so cold they're burning? Did it ever matter? He didn't know. Nobody did.
Sinking to his knees, he ran unfeeling fingers over the name carved into the stone. It was the closest he could get to her now, A stone, a bloody weathered stone was supposed to offer him consolation. His heart beat a little weaker, a little slower.
Finally he succumbed, clutching his hair in a vain attempt to ground himself, he started to weep uncontrollably. The sobs were drawn from his lungs, and cast at the stone in hopes of a response. Nothing came, so he wept harder . He broke, letting himself be shaken to the very core. Here in front of him was his family, his life, and it was gone. Sacrificed to war.
After a good many moments the sobbing finally ended. Not because the sorrow was gone, but because the tears had dried up. Crying further would only be useless and he knew that. Unfortunately that didn't dispel the sadness, the ache he felt for his lover.
He leaned forward and gave the stone one last kiss before rising to his feet, face as stony as before. He raised his wand again and the howling winds and snow began to buffet him. With a last, longing look, he turned and began to walk away, remembering the words he had spoken to the stone, to her when last they met:
It is only by Fate that any life ends,
and only by chance
that it is Yours and not Mine.
The snow whipped up into his face, mingling with the newly shed tears. Streaming from closed eyes.
They hadn't dried up after all….
A/N: This was written in my mod A class when I have nothing better to do but sit in a room thinking depressing thoughts.