A large oak tree stands tall on a flat hill, its leaves blowing steadily in the wind. A woman treks up the hill against the force of the gusts. She's tall with a creased face and a head of snow-white hair. A dark coat with a high collar shields her from the wind. Over one arm she holds a bag, the contents of which are unknown.
The woman stops underneath the tree and tugs at her collar as another gust of wind envelopes her. Her blue eyes staring at the horizon, she parts her lips to speak.
"That wind is cold." She says. "Must mean that winter will come soon.
From her bag she takes out a single red rose. She looks at the flower with admiration. Her mind fills with memories of past moments, and things that could have been. They churn in her brain like the waves of the ocean. Tears begin to pool in her eyes, and she tries to fight them. Her emotions have tried to take her before, but she's a strong woman.
"Remember the day when I nearly died, and you brought me that rose... Well, I still have it. It's a good thing you replicated it, or I would have nothing left to remind me of that day." She pauses and takes a deep breath to keep her voice from breaking. "And now I'm giving you a rose to mark a death, like you did for me... Uncanny, isn't it?"
She places the rose carefully on the ground. It stands out well against the browns and yellows of the dead leaves surrounding it. She stands slowly. For the first time, she notices all the other flowers that litter the grass.
She closes her eyes. The tears that she tried to hold back fall slowly down her cheeks, streaming across her face.
"Today would have been your birthday, you know."
Her knees go weak and she falls to the ground, her emotions becoming the better of her. It's been so long since she has cried. The tough shell she has built up over the years has never allowed for her to grieve properly. Her bag falls of her shoulder and falls to the floor. A bottle of whiskey rolls out of it, brought to celebrate the occasion and to ease her pain.
Her hands frantically brush away leaves from the ground to reveal a grave marker. She rests her head on its cool surface, her tears sliding off her cheek and wetting the stone. The stone is engraved with a name; Chakotay. She traces her fingers slowly over the markings.
"Five years, Chakotay, five years. It's been so long…" All the words she had held inside her spilled out of her mouth. "I hurt you. I know that now. I'm sorry, so sorry... It's all my fault. I never allowed myself to tell you the right things before it was too late. But I want you to know that I love you. I always have. So much..."
Her sobs get stronger, louder, more painful. She pulls her legs tight against her chest and places her hands beside her head. The large oak shakes more violently as if it feels her pain. She Cries herself to sleep, the wind howling ghastly in her ears.