Laguna stood in front of the tombstone on legs that felt like jelly. He didn't dare focus on the engravings, knowing what he'd read would only twist the knife in his heart. It would make the horror of the situation all too real.
He'd come much too late. And those two words hurt more than anything. Too late. Like if he had stopped what he'd been doing, had decided that there was something—no, someone- more important, then he might possibly have been able to prevent this from happening. Perhaps his presence alone would have been a beacon of hope for her, one that would have lured her from the brink of eternal sleep.
Laguna crumpled to the ground, his wobbly legs finally giving out on him. Hung his head in defeat. He looked down at the hands that sat on his lap, and felt almost shy sitting in front of this grave. Like he was being criticized for it. Maybe it was just him who was doing the criticizing, though. He couldn't help but feel like he'd foolishly let her slip out of his grasp, like a precious key falling out of his unreliable pocket.
Maybe it had to happen. Maybe it wasn't meant to be. Maybe he shouldn't be so hard on himself.
But as he sat there numbly, not even sobbing raggedly as he felt he should, he couldn't help but wonder why had such rotten luck.