They sat within that glowing field, dressed in white and saturated in golden rays. Their hands were bound as though they were encased in crimson ribbon. Lips met. Forms drew nearer.

"I've missed you, Roderich. You kept my heart with you…"

"I missed you as well, Elizaveta." A palm cupped the woman's flourishing cheek. "Sometimes I would imagine you calling my name like you used to…And when I would answer, sadness would come over me. Because I knew you truly weren't there. You received my letter, didn't you?"

"Of course I did! And I answered it as soon as I could." A kiss. "My heart broke when I read it. I hate to even imagine you upset…And I couldn't be there to help you through it. Icry when I picture you suffering. I love you so dearly…I can feel your pain, even from so many countries away. I'm sorry this had to happen."

"I'm sorry as well….If we fought harder…"

"No. I never wanted to fight in the place. And then they took your country so suddenly…We've never had a choice. Not even all those years ago when we first met. But you know that was one of the most wonderful moments of my life, marrying you. This is more of a divorce than signing those idiotic papers. Now I can't even visit you…" Another sweetened press. "This isn't our fault, Roderich. These things occur and sometimes there's nothing we can do but our best. And we did…I will have you again."

"You still have me, love. You took my heart with you…You could have at least asked me if you could steal it before you ran so far away. But that's alright. I love you so much; I don't possess the ability to be even mildly angry. I would have let you have it, even if you had asked."

"I know. You're too kind to me."

"I love you."

"I love you too…"

The pair came into an embrace, lips conversing in their undying passion.

Then they devoured one another's eyes, tears forming inside those luminescent wells.

"Are you treated well, darling? I've done nothing but worry for you."

The liquid sentiment was taken from the Austrian's pallid cheeks. "It's truly not so bad…I work. But I don't mind it. It's actually somewhat fulfilling, even though I'm kept occupied. But that doesn't matter. How is it at home? Are you busy as you always are?"

"Of course… But it's even more miserable. Before I had a beautiful woman I could wrap my arms around and kiss all I wanted. There's no one left for me now. I hate going to sleep without you by my side. The house is empty and only one person left."

"Oh Roderich…" Mounds embraced. "You can move on…I'll be happy for you just as long as you're not so dejected. You deserve someone more than yourself. You can have anyone you like."

"No. You can't be replaced, Elizaveta. You're the only woman for me. Asking me to find another is like telling me to stop playing the piano. I can't. I'll feel horrible if I even try."

"Roderich, you're too good…"

Nothing was spoken between them. They only basked within one another's arms.

They kissed and neither let go, silhouettes melding together as one great piece of earthly clay. Love possessed their aching hearts and filled so many of those gaping cracks, as the bandage to the ever bleeding wound.

And then, it was over.

All when Roderich spoke, "I wish you didn't have to wake up."

Those Emerald hued stones came to the biting light, and the woman found herself soaking within a warmed vat, her nude anatomy embellished in dreaming water, and her state one of near unconsciousness.

The temperature had subdued her.

And that steam had brought her heated emotion she had not experienced within that frigid ice.

Elizaveta thought of her sweetheart Roderich. She thought of his absence and she imagined his poor and shattering heart. She thought of her own. Her eyes filled with tears.

There was hatred for that weakened state; that broken heart and that situation. Detest came over her very cells because the woman had become somewhat friendly to the man who so possessed her and dictated her very actions as though she was a doll in the hands of a clumsy child. There was a sickness wallowing against Ivan Braginski, even though he had not dictated the transfer. That figurehead was the one to blame.

Hands protected those twisting formations and knees were pilled against that sobbing chest.

And the martyr swallowed her pain as obligation. As she had devoured it upon her wedding day, as she had when her divorce hit against her screaming chest as a sludge hammer, as she had when she had lost…

That pleasant fantasy had only brought misery.

Elizaveta rose from that comforting pond and faced that harsh world beyond that chipping door.