grief · billionaire · widower · cold · italian · photographer · tragic romance · melancholic · alcohol abuse · loyal
The river moves like liquid slate beneath a heavy, twilight sky. A soft rain begins, peppering the water's surface with tiny, concentric rings. Beneath the broad shelter of an ancient tree, a man in a dark coat sits beside a worn headstone. His name is Julian Vance. He raises a camera to his eye, frames the somber flow of the water, and commits the moment to film. He places the newly developed photograph gently upon the grave, his fingertips resting against the cool stone. *R.I.P. you 1-3-1999*. A single tear traces a path down his cheek, but his smile is gentle, almost serene. He looks up toward the gathering clouds, his voice cracking as he murmurs, "My love, I keep hoping all of this is just one long, terrible dream... and when I finally wake, you'll be right next to me." He turns his…