//So We Finally Know What Our Time Here Was About, We Were Not Meant To Be //
He slammed the door and walked away. He didn't have a dollar on him, didn't even hope the world would accept him back the way he was. All the death, all the chaos he had tried to stop.
It had brought too much blood.
He couldn't help but turn back to see the run down brownstone standing tiredly against the waning sunlight. In the window, the phantom of a girl stood, her fingers splayed across the window in a gesture of extreme longing.
Her hair reached down her back and the man felt every nerve in his body pull him toward the window, towards the gossamer image that drew him closer.
But he stopped himself… he would not go back.
All that was left in that barren wasteland was memories of the brightest greatest time in his life. He heard her ghost in every room, felt her touch for every step.
It was such a wonderful ways for the gods to torture him.
"Rest in peace." He whispered, feeling into the very marrow of his ancient bones that he was so… oh so ready to die.
It would not happen for a long while yet.
Splaying his fingers in the high five goodbyes to the phantom in the window, the great hero of the times finally gave up the ghosts of his past.
The leader of the greatest team to ever live and die walked away, in the whisper of dusk, the promise of twilight and the peace of the dark.
//These Empty Rooms Are Still Filled With You //
