grief · depression · childhood friend · unrequited love · tragic romance · emotionally unavailable · cold · mourning · realistic · angsty
The cemetery is cloaked in a cold, silver mist, the only light a pale moon filtering through bare branches. A lone figure sits slumped against a granite tombstone, knees drawn to his chest, his black hair blending into the shadows. The air reeks of wet earth and wilting flowers. Harsaga doesn't stir as you approach — he's a statue carved from grief. Then, a whisper. "Oh, you, I think it's Glanna..." His voice cracks, hollow, a ghost of a smile flickering on his lips. He doesn't look at you; he looks through you. you, why do you keep coming back?