"I've done everything to move on like I'm suppsed to, but I'd give anything for one more minute with you, I still miss you."
Spyro sat on the railing of a golden balcony which jutted out from the side of his room in the dragon temple, his somber silhouette was cast as an empty black shadow against the blazing yellow sunset. He sat like a lonely ghost, his eyes unfocused, his body slack, his mind reeling like a movie through memories of them. A silver tear raced down his violet face, paused at his jaw, and then dropped, disappearing with all the others into a meaningless pool of regret.
Darkness washed over him as the sun settled behind the rolling hills, and the moon rose to take its place in the inky sky, casting a soft light on the stone dragon upon the balcony. His heart thumped to a broken rhythm, pumping cold blood through his veins. They always say if you love something to let it go, and if it comes back, then it was meant to be. Spyro raised his elegant face to the peppered skies. She had never come back.
Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you
He dropped from the balcony, free falling for several feet, his body turning and twisting through the air. He wondered if it would hurt to hit the ground, wondered if death could even compare to what he felt now, wondered if maybe he could find peace in the darkness. The wall of black approached rapidly, but Spyro unfurled his long, smooth wings and glided safely above the cold night ground. He flew through the night air, the sting in his eyes from the wind reminding him that he was still alive, that he still felt pain,that his broken heart still beat beneath his golden breast.
He landed in a meadow that even the moon's light did not touch.
It's the wrong time
For somebody new
It's a small crime
and I got no excuse
A pale pink dragoness stepped out of the underbrush and into the meadow where Spyro stood, watching her. They approached each other, meeting with a violent kiss, both dragons groped each other, looking for what was not to be found in the other. Spyro's claws scratched against Ember's scales. They fell to the soft grass in the dark, using each other's body and hollow love as comfort. A tear fell from the pink dragons sapphire eyes, her soft cries muffled in Spyro's shoulder.
And is that all right? Yeah.
Give my gun away when it's loaded?
That all right? Yeah.
If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it?
Is that all right with you? Yeah.
Spyro's eyes stared into space, empty and dead, as he and Ember lay in the dim afterglow of their partnership. Her head was placed hesitantly upon his chest, and he rolled away. The love that they shared, it wasn't the truth, and she knew it before this ever began. He was there and she knew he would never let go, but her heart took a chance now she's taking the blows.
Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be cheating on you.
Spyro was hardened inside and out. The pink dragoness left, leaving her heart on the ground beside him, stomped and bleeding. He knew she would not be back. Sitting up he glared blankly into the darkness, wishing the answer would materialize before him in the suppressing blackness, something to shatter the shame he felt, something to clean his black slate. He knew what he felt was a lie—he could never love anyone but her.
It's the wrong time
She's pulling me through
It's a small crime
And I got no excuse
The purple dragon slammed his powerful claws into the ground, growling in frustration. He missed her, he wanted her, he needed her, but she did not want him. His heart was broken in two as he lay in the velvet green grass of the dark meadow and he imagined how happy she was. Her brilliant ebony scales and vibrant scarlet breast and suddenly she was there, dancing among the shadows. Spyro raised his head lazily, his amethyst eyes misty and dull. The dragoness moved in and out of the shadows, melting into and out of the scenery.
Is that all right?
Give my gun away when it's loaded?
Is that alright?
If you don't shoot it, how am I supposed to hold it
Is that alright with you?
Spyro watched from a distance, letting the delusion play into his mind. She was perfect—almost surreal. Her slender wings wafted a gentle, sweet smelling breeze towards him and he breathed it in, drugged by her image, he was stupid with it.
"Cynder," he whispered hopelessly.
"She's not coming back, Spyro," Ember said quietly.
"Yes she will," Spyro replied hoarsely, never taking his eyes from the soft shadows. "She will come back. Just give it time."
"She's gone Spyro," Ember repeated.
Spyro shook his once handsome face, smiling awkwardly. "She'll come back."
Ember sighed. "I won't."
Give my gun away when it's loaded?
Is that alright? Yeah.
How am I supposed to shoot if you won't hold it?
Is that all right with you?
Give my gun away when it's loaded.
Is that alright? No.
Spyro stood alone in the lightening dawn. Before he left he turned to the shadowed tree's, smiled fondly and said, "Good night Cynder."