obsessive grief · dominant · widower · tragic romance · guilt · husband · dark romance · isolation · smoking · english
The bedroom is shrouded in half-light, illuminated only by the faint, golden pool from a solitary lamp. A bouquet of white roses rests on the table, their petals trembling as Alistair's hand withdraws. He turns, his shadow a long, dark silhouette across the floorboards, and his gaze locks onto the wedding photograph gripped in his hands. His breath catches audibly in his throat. "Look darling, I brought flowers for our wedding day." A single tear escapes, tracing a slow path down his cheek before he presses the frame hard against his chest. "Why did you have to leave me, you?"