The Beginning of an End
11:11 PM. The night ought to be young. A soft swift breeze caused the newly trimmed trees, the fragile paper lanterns, and the tulips to dance along its imperceptible current. However, as the moon started to illuminate the dark surroundings, its light could not shine through the two shadows that were on the mansion's veranda.
"P-Primo, I―"A woman who was one of the two that stood weakly amidst that night. Her eyes gentle and bright as the moons, her skin glowing a healthy tan, and although her lips were dry and cracked, its shape was just right to compliment the beauty of her face.
"Stop, I do not need any of your false explanations." A man about her age, maybe a year or two older looked up at the dim lit skies. With his muscles tensed and hand clenched, he takes a deep breath and looks right back at the woman standing before him. His eyes did not have its usual kind warmth. Instead, a cold and sharp look was what he gave to her. Hatred, anger, and betrayal swam through its unshed tears. Just like sharks in the ocean, waiting for its prey to give up.
"Please," she begged "hear me out, Giotto." She called his name as lovingly as she can. No matter how much his contradicted hers, that did not change the affection and longing that were evident on the woman's words and gestures.
"DON'T CALL ME BY MY NAME." Primo narrowed his eyes right after she called him by his real name. "You don't deserve it. I shouldn't have revealed it to you. Can't you see the mere fact that I am not addressing you by your name gives the obvious hint that I find it disgusting to know you? Leave now Grace, LEAVE!" The man slammed his fist on the railings, creating a smooth crack along its intricate designs.
"I―" Grace whispered to herself. Head hung low, she rubbed her tear stained cheek and accidentally creates a scratch with the ring on her finger. Little did she know that this self inflicted wound will soon etch itself onto her smooth complexion, refusing to heal and fade away, serving as a reminder of a night that she would never want to remember.
"Pathetic, you even wounded your―"
"Thank you, Vongola Primo. I shall now take my leave. May your family be blessed with wealth and guidance from the gods. Goodbye, Giotto." Grace smiled at the man in front of her, words sincere and meant, she then leaves him alone. Bringing nothing with her, the woman who 'stole' the renowned Vongola Primo's heart began to fade into the darkness.
Left by his lover, Giotto relaxed his hand, revealing a wrinkled white cloth. Even until the end, he still cared for her.
'It seemed like she wasn't the one who needed it.' He thought to himself as his tears dripped and stained the cold marble floor of the veranda.