It's been a month since Lariette's death.
Tori had been banished from the Empire a day later.
She would have been executed, had her heart not been connected to Rupert's.
The joy that usually filled the Imperial Palace has now gone raw.
Rupert looked through his window.
His bright, emerald eyes are now a dull pair.
He became cold and distant from everyone.
He wasn't his usual self.
He looked out the window.
'Winter...' He thought, looking at the snow falling. 'Lariette's favorite season...'
He looked at the vase of flowers gifted by Lariette.
Roses in the shades of white, purple and red with gold ribbons sticking.
It shone with gold sparkles lightly.
The cloudy skies gave off a grey shade to it through the windows.
The fireplace cackled in its flames as he chuckled dryly to himself, remembering Lariette trying to change the roses' colors with the Alchemy he had taught when she had zero talent in magic.
(Although he could never say it to her, knowing all too well she'll be disappointed in herself.)
She ended up blowing up half of his lab.
He preserved the gift with Alchemy preciously.
Lariette's letters from when she took her vacations in Bellua.
Her little gifts.
Her diary.
He kept them all locked up and secured.
Her touch.
He savored every moment.
He didn't want to ever forget her face. It was his fear.
He painted Lariette on a portrait of what he remembers.
Her debut to society on her coming of age.
A silvery dress embroidered with red, dazzling roses and the color maroon.
She looked gorgeous.
No words could've described her that night.
Every man was drooling all over.
Rupert was excellent in everything he did.
When he finished the painting, he left to visit her grave.
He would visit every day.
He'd sit down and talk about everything that happened that same day, pretending as though she was there, listening to him.
He felt lonely.
'Lariette was right.' He thought.
'Loneliness is one of the most painful feelings. You'll feel like dying even though you're not.'
The snow from the skies created a layer on the grave.
Her tombstone clearer than ever, read the silver words 'Lariette Isabel De Bellua'.
The wildflowers, although lightly visible because of the thick snow, decorated on the grave was still as fresh as ever from the protection magic and Alchemy placed on it.
The flowers gifted by the visitors wilted and was under the blanket of snow.
Rupert raised his hand in front of the grave and used a spell to clear the snow away.
He collapsed on his knees.
His hands trembling.
Crystal, warm tears fell from his eyes.
He tried to stay strong for Lariette. He knew she wouldn't like this.
It felt like his whole world was gone.
His everything was gone.
Lariette was his everything.
She was his world.
He tried.
He really did.
When his mother had died, he barely had any sorrow.
He never shed a single tear.
Lariette was a special case.
She never wanted anything.
He wanted to give her everything.
She cared him for who he was & held no expectations except two.
'To not become a tyrant. To be happy.'