He sat there in the stillness of the night, sitting on the edge of the balcony overlooking the city. Sylva looks out, each pinprick of light seeming to melt together until he couldn’t tell where the stars ended and the lights from the windows began.
He felt as if he was the only person left in the world, although he didn’t want to be. He wanted to be with her again, despite the fact that was not possible. She was dead, and he was left to roam by himself.
No light came from the room behind him. The place seemed abandoned, almost anyways. Everything was in its place, so pristine it looked as if nothing had been touched in years. Nothing had been touched; save for one picture frame, the glass smashed and lying face down on the floor.
Sylva felt the blood run down his wrist, how he wished it would all spill and everything would be over. The lights danced before his eyes as tears made his vision waver. How could he move on? Almost everything he did