Professor Layton and the Angel's Prophecy

Losing Heart

I was afraid, and ready to leave, but you took on a stern face and told me to stay. We just chatted then, the three of us. About school, about plans for the summer. It was nice. I do not need any other word than that. Nice.

I recall how your hair, as black as night – how it fell upon your shoulders with grace. How your eyes, as purple as lavender stared into mine. Your freckles were, and still are your little shame, but I have always loved them. And above all, your smile was as glorious as life itself. I could be in the worst of moods, and trust me, years after that, this still holds true, your smile has cured all the hardships. One glance at your smile, a smile as pure and delectable as an angel's light, and I was happy. Still am.

It took me almost two years before I finally did muster the courage to ask you out, but in that time, you were my best friend. We read books under the shade of a tree; we shared stories and hopes for the future under moonlight, and we always laughed. Life was a joy, the hardships of home forgotten in those instances with you. And though when we did join hands, I could not provide you with a large home and fancy lifestyle, I did know that whatever the circumstance, we would find happiness. Because that's who you were. Who you are.

You are my soulmate. Please don't go. I don't want to lose you.

August 28th, 1998

Anastasia. Ani. Stasy. Many names I had for you, and you called me Cossie. Or Still-Brain. A joke, for you are as sweet as honey. Not a bad bone in your body, that's for certain. So why then... Why then are you dying, my love? Why must God take you from my arms? Why can't I keep you with me here, so that we may grow old together?

You say that God works in mysterious ways, but I do not care for his hidden purpose. I just want you here, by my side. I want to see your smile as bright as it was the day I first spoke to you. We were so different; I cared much for science, while you pursued butterflies, sketching their beautiful colours. You were an artist. Are an artist. And though it is only a hobby for you now, I yearn for you to pull out a piece of paper and just draw what the heart wants.

Do you remember university? It was such a big and foreign place. I was scrawny, terrified of anyone that approached me. But you were the source of light that guided me through the haze. When you held my hand, I felt invincible. We would stroll the hallways, chatting about old friends and new; what you had drawn that day or wanted to draw; and your favourite thing to do: ask what thing made me smile that day. And always I would say you – awkwardly at first, but always with an iron confidence after that. And you would laugh, and say to say something else besides yourself, though you were flattered. On one such day, my boldness earned me a kiss. I still feel your lips on mine.

So you filled me with confidence, confidence to say that my class was one thing that made me smile. My new friends made me smile. My good grades – and bad grades made me smile. You shaped me into a better man, and all you had to do was remind me to smile.

Our love grew, and after university was a pleasant memory just behind our backs, you told me that you loved me, and I loved you. And we spoke of family. We made that a reality, even though the odds were against us. I had no money to my name, and you were struggling to meet ends – your art not capturing the attention it deserved. And so I took your pictures and paintings to every gallery, every artist and every street corner in the city. If you knew the lengths I went to, you would surely have stopped me, but you did not. Yet my devotion payed off, and one man purchased one of your paintings.

That man became your boss, and together, we eventually had enough to buy a house, to start a life. Our wedding wasn't the fanciest of affairs, but we were in the company of close friends and family, and that was enough.