Lady Therese De Beauharnais, Duchess of Roche
30 November, Year 32 of King Frederick V of Monrique's reign
Tower Hill, Roche
Monrique
A sharp crescendo of ugly hate and fury rose up in the air.
The army Corporals were dragging a screaming, crying, bloodied mess that vaguely resembled a human body up the steps of the stage none too gently. Blood splattered all over the stage, and bits and pieces of his organs that had been pulled out during his disembowelment earlier lay in clumps around him.
Even from where I stood - at the back of the crowd, with a black veil covering my countenance - I could smell the metallic stench of his blood.
I remained still, as I watched, unflinching.
The Corporals set their captive down at the feet of the executioner, a plump man in his mid-sixties, who called for silence.
The noise died down, but the tension in the atmosphere remained. I could feel it in my bones, could taste the acrid anger on the tip of my tongue. One small match would be enough to set the whole Tower Hill in flames.
"Good people!" the executioner cried out, "this man, Bertrand De La Tours, has come here to die, by the laws of our good land. He yields himself to the will of our Lady, Her Grace the Duchess of Roche, against whom he has gravely wronged - for which surely, with his death, he does now atone. I beseech you all to pray for his soul."
A stony silence met his words. The bloodied mess that was Lord Bertrand could barely lift his head in response.
The executioner then knelt down in front of him, and bowed his head. "I ask for your forgiveness for what I must do this evening."
"I....refuse," came the bitter answer, "I...hope...you...all....burn...in...hell."
The words were barely audible, but everyone heard them. The atmosphere crackled even more with hate. If not for the Corporals guarding the area, the crowd would have lunged forward to murder him with their own two hands.
A brief smile unfolded on my face. The very fact that the executioner himself had asked Lord Bertrand for forgiveness was laughable - and the fact that Lord Bertrand took it seriously enough to curse us all to hell, was even more so. That request for forgiveness was nothing but an insincere show of courtesy. There was no one present in this area, not one, who did not want that bastard dead. His trial earlier in the morning had left everyone who had attended furious, and utterly disgusted.
It was why they were all still here, waiting with me, for him to die.
The executioner now stood up, nodding at the Corporals on stage. They raised Lord Bertrand slightly, while the executioner wrapped a rope around his neck and tightened the noose. The rope was then fitted to a pulley yonder.
"Now!" the executioner shouted, holding on to the rope tightly.
The Corporals stomped their boots hard in synchronisation. The ground below Lord Bertrand gave way, and opened wide, causing him to hang. The executioner instantly lifted the rope slightly above the stage for us to see his head.
His face was swiftly turning blue - as blue as his eyes that were almost popping out of his sockets - as his hands instinctively clutched at the rope cutting into his throat. He struggled in the air, choking, trying to scream, as the rope twirled, and he twirled with it.
I watched, not taking my eyes off him even for a moment. I absorbed the terror in his eyes, the agony etched upon his features, his blood-curdling screams. God forgive me, but I relished in his misery, committed every detail to memory.
This would not have been possible at all, if not for that twisted, age-old law against rape in Monrique.
As daughters, sisters, wives and mothers, we were the crowning jewels in the pride and honour of our families. Thus, whenever a man molested or raped a woman, it was considered a cowardly and immoral attack upon her family's reputation - and he would be punished accordingly, just as Lord Bertrand currently was. This was not a law for the survivors, but for the men of their families whose fragile egos would have been shattered by these crimes.
There were several things wrong with that law, but at this moment, I could not care less. Without it, Lord Bertrand would have been able to continue to destroy the lives of countless others, and I would never have been able to get the justice that I deserved.
Justice. It was a new concept to me.
It did not erase what I had been through, or return me any supposed happiness. However, a certain peace that I could not quite describe settled over my heart. It gave me a small ray of hope, that one day, the nightmares would cease haunting my slumber.
Thus, I continued to stand there, watching, even after his arms and his head hung limp, even after the crowd dispersed past me, even after the Corporals hung his marred, broken body on the wall of Tower Green, even after the sun had begun to sink beneath the horizon.
Mayhap when the sun rose again tomorrow, it would be a new day.
***
Later that night, Tommy, Clara and I were seated in the warm, sheltered courtyard.
"....when both armies lie dead all around them, Prince Edward and Princess Jeanne face each other on opposite ends of the battlefield, face to face, for the very first time," I was narrating, "they are both certain about what they believe in. Each thinks that the other is wrong, and are not afraid to battle each other to death for their cause, like their peers have done."
Little Tommy's mouth was wide open in fascination, as he listened. I glanced Clara over his head, nodding at her. She quickly took another spoonful of carrot and broccoli from the bowl I held, and fed the child.
He obediently chewed, too deep in thought to notice what he was eating. Had he paid any attention to his dinner, he would have fled Clara and me by now, screaming his head off. There was nothing the child hated more than broccoli.
"Prince Edward has a mace in his hand, with which he can easily smash Princess Jeanne's head into a bloodied mass," I continued, "and Princess Jeanne has in her hands a sword of the finest quality, with which she can easily slice his head off. It is the final battle of this long, long war - and yet, neither of them moves. Can you guess why?"
He swallowed his food, before answering. "Because they are too evenly matched? They are at a...at a..." he searched for the word he wanted, before he remembered, "stalemate?"
Clara pushed another spoonful of vegetables into his mouth before he could close it. "That is one reason, yes. Both Prince Edward and Princess Jeanne are only too aware of each other's strengths, and know they could never win the other in a fair battle," she explained to him, "but more importantly, they do not move...because they do not want to. Love stands between them like a shield, protecting them both."
Tommy's eyes popped out of his sockets, as he stared at her. "They do not want to win, and end the war?" he was flabbergasted, "even after all the people who died for it thus far?"
"Aye, sweetheart. Because despite all the fighting, the betrayals, the pain, Prince Edward and Princess Jeanne can still vividly remember the happy life they once led together before the war," I answered with a wry smile, "they can still remember a time when they fought on the same side, when they were a formidable army of their own, when their love was enough to conquer all their problems."
"As they stand now, facing each other, they wonder how everything had gone so horribly wrong," I murmured, "and how they reached this point. They look at each other and see, not the soldiers that they are, but the bride and groom they had been on their wedding day, promising to love and stand by each other during the good times and the bad. They reflect now, on how badly they have failed each other on that promise."
Tommy's jaw hung open. "What happens next?"
Clara slipped in another spoonful. "What once appeared clearly black and white now appears grey," she whispered, "is one truly in the right, when so many people have to die, so many promises have to break, so many tears have to be shed, to prove it? And even if one of them did win the battle and prove that they are right, what will they gain? Who else is left to satisfy their pride, their ego? Everyone else is dead. Was all this even worth it in the first place?"
"Was it?" Tommy leaned forward towards her.
"Neither of them have an answer to that," I shook my head, "so eventually, overcome with grief, they both of them kill themselves with the weapons they hold."
"Nay!" the child cried, horrified, sitting upright on my lap.
"They thus fall, still on opposite ends of the battlefield," I concluded, "and their eyes are fixed on each other, unseeing, as their hearts come to a stop together. The end."
Tommy remained silent, deeply shaken, when we finished narrating the folklore.
Taking the opportunity, Clara swiftly fed him the last spoonful of vegetables left, and set the bowl on the ground. When her gaze next met mine, her eyes were gleaming bright with unshed tears.
"I swear to God," her voice was choked, "our country's folklore comprises of some of the most miserable tales I have had the misfortune of hearing in this lifetime."
"I know," I leaned forward to pat her knee, "but I am rather fond of them, for some reason."
"Was it worth it?" Tommy asked us just then, blinking, "in the story, was the war worth it?"
I exchanged glances with Clara, who gave me a weak smile. "It so happens," she told him, amused, "that your Tessie and I have different answers to this. And we both think we are right."
Tommy collapsed against my shoulder. "Good Lord," he sighed in exhaustion, "not another war!"
"Nay, darling, Clara and I are not going to war," I laughed softly, as I wrapped my arms around him, "for one, I would like to have my only sister alive. In any case, I truly do believe that she is also right, in her own way."
"So was it worth it?" he was curious, as he looked between us.
"Well, I do not think it was worth it," Clara shook her head, huffing, "what is the point of all that fighting, if neither of them is left with nothing to live for? Their armies and families are dead, and their country has been wiped out of all forms of life due to the war. What is the point of winning, when everyone loses in the end?"
"No cause...no cause is more important than the people whom we love in our lives," she sighed, "either Edward or Jeanne should have given in."
"Clara has a point," Tommy nodded, glancing up at me.
"She does," I agreed.
"Then why do you not agree with her?" he wanted to know.
"Because I think that there are certain things that you simply cannot compromise on in life, especially when it concerns your values and your beliefs. They define who you are as a person," I smiled sadly, "when you force yourself to compromise on these things - for the sake of love, or anything else - your life becomes empty, meaningless. Even surrounded by those whom you love, you will feel incomplete. In my opinion, that...that is no way to live."
"So while Clara views the war as a battle of egos between two unyielding spouses and their respective supporters," I inclined my head at her with a smile, "I view it as a war between two groups of comrades, each united by a cause they hold close to their hearts and consider a part of them."
"I think the war was worth it," I shrugged, "even if they had not fought and had compromised instead, they would have lived each subsequent day like dead men and women, regretting and cursing the day they made the decision to do so."
Tommy seemed to be in deep thought. "I cannot decide who is right."
Clara chuckled. "Have you considered the possibility that we could both be right?"
"That is not possible," he shook his head, "one of you has to be wrong."
"In the end, it all depends on perspective, darling," I spread my hands, "and what you consider to be important to you. Think about that, and one day, you will find your own answer. All right?"
"All right," he mumbled, still musing.
I lifted him off my lap, and put him on his feet. "Now run along and play," I ruffled his hair, "that is enough philosophy for today."
"Thank you for the story, Tessie," he smiled weakly at me, "and for that horrible dinner, Clara. I noticed the broccoli you added." He made a face at my sister.
She snickered. "Well then, I appreciate that you ate it nevertheless, without making a fuss."
"The things I do for love," he rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner, "now ladies, please excuse me." With that, he ran off into the Manor.
When he was out of sight, my younger sister turned to me, her smile fading. "The child is leaving for Bordeux tomorrow with Ned and Nick," she remarked sadly, "the Manor is going to be deadly silent without all their constant ruckus."
"I know," I pulled my knees to my chest, "but we need to accept it. They have their own lives to return to, and they have sacrificed enough of their time for us as it is. Nick is about to have a child, and Ned has his wedding to plan."
She remained silent, observing me.
"Sister-mine," her voice was heavy when she spoke next, "do you ever intend to tell Ned about how you feel?" Her ocean blue eyes were swirling with turmoil.
I stared at her in surprise for several moments in silence, before I sighed.
"Of course not, Clara," I replied quietly, "he is an engaged man, and I...well, I have a thousand and one things to do - "
"Just as I expected," she mumbled, sitting upright, "by God - "
I groaned. "Oh, God, nay. You are going to preach a sermon."
Despite herself, she broke into an amused smile. "No sermons, I promise," she assured me, "I have long come to realise that those do not work on you. Whatever I tell you, you tend to do the exact opposite." Her voice was wry.
"About time you realised," I muttered.
She rolled her eyes, before she grew serious. "But rather, I want to remind you," she told me softly, "when you first began training as a Lady Justice, you told me you never wanted to lie, cheat or deceive your way out of anything ever again if you can help it."
My forehead creased. "I did, and I still mean it."
She stood up. "Well, omission of the truth is also considered a lie," she gave me a sad smile, "and you are being rather unfair to yourself, and to him, by hiding how you feel."
"Clara, it is too late," I whispered.
"I beg to differ on that. It all depends on perspective," she brushed a stray curl behind my ear, as she gave me my own words, "and what you consider to be important to you." With that, she quietly bid me a good night, and walked back inside the Manor.
Intentionally or nay, she had given me much to think about.
***
"Ned, where are my codpieces?"
"Oncle Ned hung them over your bed!"
"By the Lord, that is embarrassing, Ned! Why would you tell a baby about my codpieces - "
"I am not a baby - I am five and a quarter!"
"Well, I am five and twenty, so you are still a baby to me!"
"Would the both of you please keep quiet? I am trying to pack!"
Roche Manor was an utter chaos the next morning. Nick, Lord Testalt and Tommy were preparing to return home to Bordeux, and true to form, none of them had completed their packing in time.
The maids and manservants were rushing up and down the stairs between their chambers, helping them in every way they could. Everyone was barking orders, or complaining or yelling at one another across several floors, and Lord, all their voices were beginning to grate on my nerves.
It was too early in the morning for me to deal with this.
Balancing several boxes in my arms, I now hurried up the stairway towards Nick's chambers. Noticing that his door was already ajar, I kicked open his door wider with my toes, and walked in.
I stopped short. My eyes widened.
The whole chamber was in a state of total disarray. Everything was everywhere. In the midst of it all, a hassled man was rushing back and forth, throwing his things none too neatly into his trunks, as he fretted and fretted over the things he had lost.
He paused, running a hand through his hair. "By the Lord, my overcoat - "
I looked around, and found it hanging over the very door I was standing next to. Tiptoeing slightly, I used one hand to hold my boxes, and reached for the overcoat with the other. I then proceeded to toss it straight at Nick's head.
He caught it, noticing me for the first time. "Thank you, Tess."
He squashed it in one corner of his trunk, and then bent down to scour the bedside drawers for his next missing item.
I eyed him, truly perplexed. "I would have thought being married to Jules alone should have been sufficient to keep you in order," I remarked, walking towards him, "she would never tolerate such an appalling mess."
Indeed, my cousin the Commander General was usually right particular about discipline and order, inside and outside of the army.
"My wife and I have a mutual agreement when our personal wardrobes are concerned," Nick answered me absent-mindedly, distracted by his quest, "I do not look into hers, and she does not look into mine."
"She does not?" I was sceptical, "somehow, brother, I find that very hard to believe."
He huffed, standing up, as he strode towards his other cupboard to begin another search. "All right, she does. From time to time," he admitted at last, "and she makes me arrange my belongings properly - and does not allow any of the Castle Staff to help me - whenever she discovers any mess I have made in our chambers."
"And how does she do that?" I wanted to know.
He turned to face me. "By threatening to request the kitchen staff not to make me any more Marzipan until I have finished," he sounded resigned, "they take her requests more seriously than they take mine, in any case. Especially now that she is with child." He broke into a wry smile.
I raised my eyes to the heavens above. There were days I wondered if this man was truly five and twenty years of age. Queen Eleanor had been too lenient in raising the youngest of her brood, and now his penchant for Marzipan was bordering on psychotic obsession.
Even his wife was a lost case.
"Have you written to Jules to tell her you are coming home?" I recalled just then, "is she expecting you?"
"I did. I write to her everyday," his smile softened, tinged with sadness, "I have rather missed her these few weeks, if you must know. I have spent more months away from her than with her during this pregnancy, when I should have been by her side."
I reached out to pat his shoulder. "Then pack quickly. The faster you pack, the faster the carriage can leave Roche - and the faster you can reach the Castle, and meet Jules," I reasoned with a smile, "here are some boxes of Marzipan I have made for your journey." I held out the boxes in my arms towards him.
His grey eyes lit up at that. He hurried towards me, and leaned forward to grab all of the boxes from me with one scoop of his arms.
"Oh, thank you, bless you - "
"Good Lord, not all of them are for you, Nick," I took back half of those boxes, suppressing my laughter, "some are for Ned and Tommy."
"Well, I can give them to them - " he tried, reaching for them again.
I slapped his hand away. "Nice try, but I am afraid I do not trust you," I remarked wryly, "so if you do not mind, I think I will entrust the rest of these boxes to Ned. They will be safer with him."
"But - "
"Happy packing," I waved, before I walked out of his chambers.
When I closed the door behind me, I allowed myself a good laugh for a few moments. I then proceeded a few floors down, and approached Lord Testalt's and Tommy's chambers. Taking a deep breath, I knocked.
"Come in!"
I pushed open the door, wincing, expecting another war-worn chamber.
However, I was pleasantly surprised. In contrast, Lord Testalt's chambers were a much better sight to my eyes. His bed was well made, without a pillow out of place, or a crease on the sheets. All his clothes were already folded neatly, and placed in his trunks. He was now helping Tommy to pack, who was a little too distracted by his playthings to pay much attention.
"Good morning," I broke into a relieved smile.
Lord Testalt did not even look up at me. "Good morrow, Tess," he sounded rather stressed, "are we late? "
"Nay, do not worry," I assured him wryly, "Nick is nowhere near completed. I am almost proud of you in comparison."
He raised his eyes towards the heavens above, exasperated with his friend.
Tommy tossed his playthings aside, and bounded towards me then, beaming. "What are those?" he pointed to the boxes in my arms, "are they presents for me?"
"Well, I made some Marzipan for your journey," I ruffled his hair, "is there any space left in your trunks to put these boxes?"
"Hooray!" the child cheered.
That made Lord Testalt stand upright to face me. "There is always space for food," he grinned at me, his exhausted baby blue eyes beginning to crinkle at the edges, "thank you so much, Tess."
He strode forward towards me, and lifted the boxes out of my hands. He then proceeded to try and shift some of their clothes in their trunks, so that he could squeeze them in. Tommy leaped up onto the bed, and leaned his weight on the boxes with all his might, in an attempt to help his uncle.
The boxes did not budge an inch. The child frowned, his shoulders slumping in disappointment.
Lord Testalt burst out laughing. "Do not worry, son. I can take care of it, thank you," he assured him, "would you like to go and help Nick pack instead? I think he needs your help more than I do."
Tommy nodded, becoming excited again, as he jumped off the bed, and sprinted out of the chamber. Lord Testalt simply shook his head in amusement, before he crouched over the trunks again.
I watched him, my heart in my throat, as I remembered why I had come here in the first place. I should speak to him now, before he leaves.
But -
"Ned."
He paused, looking up at me. "Yes?"
I plunged on before I could back out. "There is something...I need to tell you before you leave."
"What is the matter?" he tensed at once.
"Nay, nay, do not worry. Everything is fine," I forced a small smile, rocking on my heels, "I just need to speak to you in private, that is all. Would you be able to spare me a few minutes?"
He did not look like he believed me, but he relented for the moment. "How about I meet you on the terrace in ten minutes? I should finish packing by then."
I nodded at him, and all but fled the chamber.
***
My stomach was in tight knots.
Fiddling with my fingers by my waist, I paced on the terrace back and forth while waiting for Lord Testalt, thinking hard on how to initiate this particular conversation.
Ned, I would like to enquire if - Nay, too formal.
I wanted to let you know that - Nay, too impersonal.
Do you remember, in our childhood - Nay, there was no time at the moment for anecdotal introductions and smooth segues. That man only had a few minutes on his hands before his carriage was due to leave Roche.
I sank down on the ground, heedless of the snow, and buried my head in my hands. "Ugh!"
How in the world did one usually go about this?
Clara's romance novels made it seem so easy. When the male protagonist gazed at his love interest, and she at him - boom, their hearts met at once. There were no insecurities, no uncertainties. They just knew. A few more predictable twists and turns in the plot, and then they lived happily ever after.
How?
This was why I sometimes hated reading. They pulled me into a whole new world for a few hours, only to tell me in the end that reality was far and away from it.
My stomach tightened further.
This, right here, was reality. Reality was uncertain. Reality was frightening. Reality was waiting in tenterhooks on the terrace, in this bitter cold winter, to do something you would never otherwise have done, if your meddling sister had not further muddled your already muddled mind the night before -
"Tess?"
I looked up, startled. Lord Testalt, in all his six-foot glory, was standing before me, with a quizzical look upon his countenance.
My cheeks drained of all colour. Had it been ten minutes already?
"Why are you sitting on the ground when there is a perfectly good bench yonder?" he held a hand out towards me, "come now, let me help you up."
I bit back a sigh, and took his hand, allowing him to pull me up to my feet. As he led me to the bench near the edge of the terrace, I could not help but notice the gold band on his ring finger gleam in the rays from the morning Sun.
It was enough to make me hesitate yet again that morning. Mayhap this is not a good idea -
Lord, you are only going to talk to him, I took a deep breath, stop fretting so much.
He gently sat me down on the bench, before releasing my hand, and sitting across me. "So, what did you wish to tell me?" he wanted to know, "are you all right?"
"That is irrelevant," I shook my head, "I - "
"It is relevant to me, Tess," he cut in quietly, "and I want to know. Are you all right?"
A small smile unfolded upon my countenance. He cared.
Truth be told, I had long stopped answering people who asked me if I was all right, because I had come to realise that, in polite society, that question was a mere form of courtesy, a façade of concern. None, or very few, ever truly cared about the answer that followed it.
"Nay, I am not," I eventually admitted, "truth be told, I am rather nervous." I released a rushed breath.
His eyes widened. "Therese De Beauharnais, nervous?" he pretended to be taken aback, "good Lord. I never thought I would live to see this day."
"It must be your lucky day, then," I said wryly, "I am just as shocked as you are."
The corners of his lips tugged up, as he simply shook his head, chuckling. I watched him for a few moments, amused, before my smile slowly faded.
Do it now, Tess. There is not much time left.
With that resolve, my lips parted. "Raymond."
Lord Testalt looked up at me when he heard my voice falter, startled. I did not know what he saw in my countenance, but he ceased chuckling at once. Mayhap in that moment, he realised exactly how afraid I was.
"What is the matter?" he asked softly, "tell me."
"I want to," I cleared my throat, "believe me, in these ten minutes and for the whole of last night, I have contemplated a thousand different ways to broach the subject - and I am still at a loss."
He patiently waited for me to continue. I took a deep breath, in an attempt to quell the sudden increase in my heart rate. I sat upright to face him fully, clasping my hands firmly on my lap till my knuckles turned white.
"However, I am fresh out of ideas, and you need to leave in a few minutes - so I will come straight to the point," I stared straight at him, trembling, "I...I am in love with you."
The effect of my words was instantaneous. He froze where he sat, extremely still, almost like an ice sculpture. His expression was wiped clear of all emotions, on instinct, mayhap in a defensive reaction towards someone like me, who had once fully taken advantage of him.
He needed to know, to understand. I am not who I used to be.
"I am aware that I have no right to be saying that to you at this point in time," I whispered, "and please believe me when I say that the very last thing I want to do is to break your engagement, and make you unhappy." I held his gaze, completely honest.
He did not look away. "Then why?"
The pain in his voice almost broke my resolve. I swiftly glanced down at my lap to hide the sudden tears that were beginning to well in my eyes, and composed myself.
"You are returning to Bordeux today," I managed eventually, "and I will be following you there in a few days' time to present the petition. When it is rejected, and I continue pursuing it like the hot-headed fool I can be sometimes, I will be punished. M-Mayhap a term or a few in the dungeons - "
His lips thinned. "Tess - "
" - and it may take a while before I am released again. After that, I will continue to fight, and keep fighting until we all win," I smiled sadly, "in the midst of all this mess, you will be long married to Evie, till death does you both apart. It will be too late by then for me to tell you...how I truly feel about you. It already is."
That silenced him.
I hesitantly raised my gaze to his again. "And I want you to know," I swallowed, "not because I expect you to destroy the relationship you have built with Evie, and stay with me, but because you deserve to know, always, how very much you are loved. You deserve the truth."
"You are a wonderful, wonderful individual, Ned, flaws and all," I meant every word of it, my voice soft, "and I am so, very proud of the boy you were, and the man you have grown into. As you take the next step of your life with Evie, I wish you nothing but the very best, and of course, lots of joy."
My voice wavered towards the end. I could not help it. Although I knew he no longer felt the same way about me, it did not stop me from wishing that he did, even for a moment. As much as I wanted him to be happy with Evie, it did not change the fact that I was breaking my own heart into pieces in the process. It did not change the fact that it hurt, and I wanted to curl into a corner and be miserable by myself.
But this was not the time.
In the meanwhile, Lord Testalt continued to stare at me in silence. His baby blue eyes were glassy, burning with emotion, as they had on the night of his engagement ball. He had always been the one between us to feel too much, and too deeply.
The horses neighed loudly below just then, shattering the silence, and I heard the babbling in the courtyard below slowly increase in volume.
I rose to my feet. "Your carriage is ready to leave. Nick must have finished packing," I mumbled, clearing my throat, "let us go. You have to help the footmen carry your trunks to the carriage."
Lord Testalt stayed still where he was seated, utterly lost and conflicted, submerged deep within his thoughts. His troubled eyes searched my countenance, for the answers to questions even I did not know.
With hesitation, I lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. I could feel the slight, but rough stubble on his skin, and the warmth of his blood pulsing beneath it, as I brushed a thumb across his cheekbone.
He closed his eyes.
"Ned," my voice was soft, "'tis time to return to Bordeux. Nick and Tommy must be waiting for you downstairs."
He remained quiet.
My throat began to clog up. On an impulse, I leaned forward to gently press a kiss against his forehead, allowing my lips to linger there for a brief moment. When I drew back, his eyes were still closed and he trembled slightly.
A lone tear slid down my cheek. Before it could fall from my countenance, and hit the back of his hand, I forced myself to turn around, and walk away from him.