Clide had always thought it would be a demon that would end her, not his own hand. The distinct coppery scent of blood tinges his nose as it pooled out before him. It was a deep crimson, a shade that made his stomach churn. It was all around him, wherever he looked. Bloodshed, death, her death. It was a bad omen that bore down on his soul, tore his heart to shreds. He felt nothing now. With her gone, nothing was worth feeling. The world was a blend of too sharp, too vivid color and thought. He was but an empty shell, his mind still stuck in those moments when he held her in his arms until she had took her final breath. He couldn't even tell her how much he loved her. She didn't know, she thought she had lost him when really, he had lost her. She was all he wanted, now all he wanted, all he needed to survive, was gone. He had never been one for self-pity, in lingering in the past, but he couldn't move on. No matter what anyone told him, he couldn't shake the image of her limp, lifeless body, matted with that sickening crimson. He didn't belong in this reforming, reshaping ever-changing world full of hope and love and laughter. Not without her, never without her. He couldn't exist without her; it was simple as that, he wasn't even sure he was still existing. Most of his days were spent in the greenhouse as the others tried to set things right. He hadn't even shown up to her funeral, he didn't have the strength. Each breath he took was jagged and forced, only brought on by the fact that there had to be a way to get her back. There had to be, he just had to find it. The greenhouse was lit by dim witchlight, filled with plants from all around the world. He rested on the soft earth. His eyes were closed and not for the first time, he noticed the hot tears streaming down his face. It was there, in the earthy aroma of the greenhouse, that he heard it, the sound he'd never thought he'd hear again.