How could he have let things get this way? How could he have not noticed that something was so wrong? Imrahil's hands were tight fists, his nails digging into his palms and searing through the skin. He felt the blood trickle down and wondered how many times Lothiriel had felt tears trickle down her cheeks.
He'd failed her. He'd known she wasn't her usual cheerful self, but put it down to adolescent depression. And sometimes she'd looked so happy and her face had lit up the room as she laughed, and Imrahil's worries had always been quelled by that sudden illumination.
But it hadn't been real. She must have sometimes felt happy; because no one's smile could be that bright if they were miserable underneath. But the quietness and the reluctance to eat had always returned, and in his relief at seeing the darkness hanging over her lifted, Imrahil had never noticed just how quickly it descended again.
The carpet in her room was worn. The maid who found her had screamed, and he'd come running, pushing servants and nobles alike out of his way as he ran to his daughter's side. There was a flat track in the carpet, vague footprints imprinted on it from countless hours of pacing, and Imrahil had wondered why no one had noticed before.
Lothiriel's skin was pale and tinged with the grey of death. The white shroud she was wrapped in did a poor job of disguising her skeletal frame compared to the voluminous velvet dresses that she usually wore. She seemed so small and fragile lying there in the dark oaken coffin, and Imrahil cursed himself for not noticing anything before it was too late.
She'd fallen apart, and no one had noticed. She'd slowly killed herself, and he hadn't realised. He'd never see her smile light up the room again, she'd never wake up half the palace tripping over a cat on one of her midnight strolls and scream loud enough to resurrect the dead again, she'd never come to him late at night wanting a comforting hug from her father because something in the dark scared her. Not that he'd done a good job of comforting her this time. He hadn't been there for her when she needed him most, hadn't given her a cake and made her promise not to tell the cook that he'd taken it for a midnight feast, hadn't been an arm to lean on when she felt weak. She'd fallen into darkness and it was all his fault.