The man stood near the river of the dead. His hands carried a woman who looked nothing less to a water being because of her translucent texture that didn't have a solid form as she was a dead person. Someone who had died years ago, which even Crane didn't keep count of as he didn't know she existed. His grey eyes stared down at her.
Almost an hour had passed since he had come to stand on the bank of the river, but he hadn't let go of her. He continued to carry her in his arms. Only memory and fragment was left of Preciosa, the woman he once loved dearly and Crane still loved her. He wasn't willing to let her go but keeping her was not going to do any good. Winston had kept her out of the river for many years. If Crane knew about her, about who he was and what Winston had done, Crane would have tried to revive her but it was too late.
Crane's hollow eyes that never had any emotion hardened at the thought of what could have been done if only he had the knowledge.
