The stark white of the linen curtains above the bed caught the sun and sent it sprawling across the undecorated walls of his room. Without her, he simply hadn't seen fit to adorn the walls with anything –not that there was anything worthy of distracting him from her memory. The man sighed, brushing his dark hair out of his face.
"I shouldn't even be alive now," he thought to himself. He picked up the paper and skimmed it, as usual, for any hint of old dress. She wouldn't be brazen enough to wear anything that showed her ankles. He smiled to himself. She was always so proper.
For an instant, his heart was light. There was a photo of Elizabeth in the paper! But remembering that the Dharque Festival was in only two days replaced his hope with sadness and longing once more. She would never come back to him. The pale man had won.
Alex dressed in his usual black breeches and long sleeves –he couldn't seem to give up his old fashions- and swung a messenger bag over his shoulder on his way out the door. Maybe a nice hot mocha would help.