[RO] Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful.
But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering.
Jorheim was a ghost.

The musical notes of the cart broke the eerie silence, the faithful steps of two horses that knew the area well. Where the laughing of children and families had been, where the screams of terror once echoed from the Ragnarok, were all gone. Memories of the past grip Ezra's mind and soul as they moved through the hills. They passed him like hurricanes, but every time he came back to reality, nothing had be stirred around him.

Finally, the poet dropped from the cart. Slender hands tied the horses to the trunk of a sturdy tree and he turned to face the center of the hillside homes. The fences were falling and the gardens were overgrowing. The windchimes were gone, and the magic and wonder of this world was dull, as if it had taken it's last breath with Vinatta. He breathed in an carried on. The corners of his mouth cast downward. Down the long winding path to a secluded home, the door of Fiora's family home had nearly grown over.

Nails slide down the door that shivered on it's last hinge, trailing through the ridges of the wood softly as it spoke to him. Curling his hand into a loose fist, he rapped lightly on the door. Three times. Just as he had done that day. The sudden blue of her eyes. The hands that reached toward him.

"Ezra.." She once breathed softly. 

Reaching for the handle, he forced the door open. The hinge broke and the metal rattled to the floor. The heft of the door pulled him forward, but he was able to correct himself. He'd not realized how much more muscle he'd grown without trying while living in the wilds. Setting the door gently against the wall, he turned to face the room. Dustmotes claimed the ray of light that crept into the veiled hush of the abandoned home. Whatever he had left here had been scavenged away at this point. The extra herbs, some of the furniture, the odds and ends of stationary life, all the things he couldn't take with him when he ventured off to find her. His feet drug against the ground as he managed to make his way to their bed before he collapsed on what was once his favorite place in the world. There the man stayed for a while, and the only sounds that filled that lonely hut was the soft cries of a broken heart.

"What.. matters now.. is-is that.. you are here now.."

"I forever will be."

What a lie that had become.

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