Selenophilia

Fifty

Elise was dropped off at a cottage with no uncrowned king to be found. Good, because Elise wouldn't let him see her grieve.

She wouldn't let anyone see her cry, or scream, or anything that would make her break.

Everything makes her break. She felt the vulnerability and the familiarity of it. The invisible chains that tightened and the feeling of failure deep within her bones, biting her to the feeling of a chill on her spine. It felt like a feathery touch and yet it was like she was burning in blue fire.

When Elise finally found herself standing in silence, when she finally realized that she was alone, that no one would be there to comfort her, a few tears fell down as she stared off of nothing. All she could feel was nothing at first. Just the feeling of her cheeks getting wet from how she was crying profusely.

Then she felt everything.

All at once, she felt it. The pain that came along with grieving came faster than she could ever imagine. And she couldn't stop it. The pain she felt was unbearable.

The pain felt like someone was crushing you so hard that you would wish for death to come. The pain that were like a path of thorns and rocks, you walk upon that road with nothing but the burdening feeling of desperation and fear and you would wish. You would wish and wish and hope that he were alive.

That he were alive to apologize to her face and tell her everything would be alright. Everything should have been alright.

He should have been alright.

He shouldn't have died. He shouldn't have smiled to her like it was goodbye, he shouldn't have fought, to have that fucking determination in those eyes, those eyes that Elise had recognized so well. He shouldn't have died.

But he did.

And it was too late. She should have stopped him when he was saying goodbye to her, she shouldn't have let him kiss her on the forehead like some drama kind of thing. This wasn't a movie or a story where they were the characters who would grieve and die, who would get a happy ending or not. This was Hugo and Elise, for goodness' sake. This was Hugo.

This was her Hugo.

And he died.

This wasn't some sad plot in the story. This was her friend dying.

Somebody died right in front of Elise and she didn't do anything about it.

She could have done something.

She could have been the wall, she could have been the one to protect him, she could have done something. Anything!

She should have done something.

She was a failure. That was what she was. She was a thorn and a vine stopping Hugo from surviving, from staying alive. She was a failure as a friend for not watching his back when he was watching hers. She was a failure for failing at protecting him. If he was her wall, then she should have been his as well. What was she? A damsel in distress?

She would have stopped it from hurting him.

From killing him.

She was a failure. She couldn't stop it. She should have. She could have.

Death took him. No matter how she hated the fact, it was Hugo who knocked at death's door and death only opened it for him and welcomed him with open arms. Hugo, who was this lonesome wolf who wouldn't let anyone see his true self, who was this flower so bright and beautiful and yet with thorns ready to hurt anyone who would come close to him.