You loved her, didn’t you?
                                       No…I still do…

Flowers dragged in the palms of his hands that weighed more than the heftiest of tons. Memories swimming in his eyes and dripping down his chin. Nothing could be so painful, to see a face grow marked by age as one stood tall, the same, ever stout with the force of the years.

Scars healed, leaving nothing but smooth skin.

Emil stayed, strong and tall as the World Tree ever did. Martel, her world was supposed to remain so hopeful. Yet now in this time of need did he feel the most bitter.

Only one companion resided now that still lived. Genis. A half elf going upon his one hundredth year.

The scarf caught along the wind.

   ”Marta…“ Her name stood on that tombstone, no-matter how many times Emil blinked, how much he wished to white out the rub away words written upon stone—

Yet he was not her knight. Never was he her knight after four years had passed. Words were bitten harshly, feelings of contempt rising between them … 

The flowers dropped, set upon the grave site quietly. “I’m old…Marta. I … I h-have no more words to speak.”

Not to her. Not to anyone.

Turning on his heel, he began wiping free clinging droplets of water. A life as a spirit, he wished he’d died that day he’d stepped beyond the Guinnungagap instead of living this long.

–

   ”M-Ma'am…“ Emil was gently shaking the woman, her breathing having grown ragged. ”Ma'am, are you okay? O-oh goodness, you b-brushed up against me on your w-way somewhere. Do y-you need any help?“

There, the blonde stood she had seen in the memory. A smile creasing lips, someone who looked much too innocent to have experienced such a thing. To have whispered the words ‘old’.

   ”It’s n-no trouble, I promise!“