Ritz...
A lone figure sat on the bed, in a room shrouded in darkness. He was so still, that if it weren't for the very slight movements of his shoulders when he breathed, one would think he was a statue.
Alistair, the King of Ritz, looked nothing like he had been. He was once boasted as the beauty of the world, with his longish silver hair, ethereal visage, and lively amethyst pair of eyes. However, these days, although still beautiful, he was now a figure of sorrow and mourning.
It's been a week since his beloved sister had left the world to run free in the Elysium Field, and nothing was the same anymore to those who were left behind – most especially to the brother who had been riddled with guilt aside from his anguish.
Tears?
