Today was a rather extraordinary day for Baron Richard.
How extraordinary? It was like going to your favorite restaurant on the weekend, ordering a long-awaited and limited dish, then eagerly and nervously awaiting the arrival of the person across the table.
Time trickled by, the candles on the table gradually grew shorter, the guests around began to thin out, and the restaurant waiters came and went, repeatedly.
Looking out of the window, you see a lost, dejected face reflected in the slightly frosted glass. The waiter comes to your side once again, saying politely something to you. You stand up, give a regretful smile, and walk out of the restaurant, head down.
The cold night air is biting, your breath turning into white mist as you sigh, slowly disappearing. You prop up the collar of your coat, hands in pockets, taking a final glance down the street you've been watching all evening.
