Teardrops. What were they really? Long have they graced her ruddy cheeks, and long have they lost their meaning. Gemma's eyes watered at the sight of almost anything, the trees, the horses, the window, the anything...These fat dollops of water that rolled off her nose...what were they? They no longer symbolized her mourning for her beloved, no longer did they represent her hollowed state, and no longer did they signify any significance at all. She was empty.
They came more easily these days, these tears. Without a moments warning, a waterfall spouted from her weary eyes. Her Grandmother had given up on her, crediting lunacy for Gemma's constant tears, tears that only glossed over the vacant eyes that stared upon nothing in particular. Simon quit calling on her, for she no longer harbored that spunk that he found so appealing. Tom avoided her; she was a scandal on two legs. Ann, condemned in her Governess position and Felicity, storming through Paris with a frenzy as to cover up her pain. The world had given up on her. Formerly known as Gemma Doyle, now reduced to "that girl".
Gemma hardly cared anymore. She slept hours upon hours in hopes of touching those magnificent black curls one last time. She dreamt of dreaming of meeting him. Yet her attempts proved to be fruitless, she dreamt instead about his wildly accusing eyes staring at her through the crevices of the Tree. Eyes that screamed at her, "Why did you leave me here?! How could you have allowed this to happen?" Gemma oft woke in a sweat, her face covered with a fresh oncoming of tears, and her mind feebly trying to comfort her that it was not so. She knew Kartik would have never have blamed her, that he sacrificed himself for her. Yet she could never shake off the dreams in which his wild eyes accused her of condemning him to the Tree. She was no longer sure...
Empty.
Everywhere she looked, she saw him. Everywhere she went, she caught his scent wafting lazily in the air. Everywhere, he was there. Kartik.
Empty. Empty. Empty.