The memory would forever be tinged with sorrow, longing and fear. Of a first snow, a first confession and a first kiss. The realization saddens him, that he had taken something she would have cherished, snatched a memory that should not be tainted with him. This woman who could not bear him talking about his own death would be left to relive this particular memory, of snow, wine and her mouth trembling under his.
Tips of his fingers skim along her cheek, brushing the softest of skins as he draws back, puts the distance of a breath between them, waits for her eyes to flutter open.
"Forgive me," he all but whispers. His hand falters as it dips to her throat. As he watches her mouth parts slightly. Her eyes seek his, faintest dust of snow clinging to her lashes. She looks like a dream, so beautiful that his heart breaks. "I'm sorry."
