The thing about love is that one would do anything to be with the one they love, to make the one they love happy, not matter what the cost. I, Aiden Rabelais, am living proof of this.
You see, two years ago the Red Death killed my wife, Anastasia. She was put to rest in the mausoleum on the shore of the Black Sea. My Anastasia meant the world to me. Everything I wanted, needed, she had. I couldn't bear to live without her.
This being the case, I didn't. Every night, I visited her in the mausoleum. I shared the news of the town, the gossip among our old friends, the hardships of work, and updated her on the case of our child's kidnapping. I took special care not to let other people know, for I don't think they'd appreciate the dedication. I would certainly be locked away in a mental hospital, which to be completely honest, is where I belonged.
I've always heard people talk about having loved and lost. Never could I relate to these people, for I had only loved Anastasia, and I still do. However, one night, on the way to Anastasia's mausoleum, I overheard a woman crying. Being a very curious man, I wondered toward the sound. I didn't know at the time it would alter my life so drastically. A young girl, maybe 14 years of age, was sitting in the sand. Her toes were buried beneath the sand, hugging her knees to her chest. Long, dark hair cascaded down her back in thick curls. The night's thick silence was broken only by an occasional sob that escaped her lips. I tilted my head slightly, trying to recognize the girl. I didn't.
Carefully stepping over great logs of driftwood, I slowly made my way over to her, making sure to approach from the side. I knelt down next to her, brushing a lock of curls away from her eyes. She inhaled sharply, clearly startled, and rose quickly to her feet.
"I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't know anyone else was around." She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes, patting the ones on her cheeks dry. Her skirt was covered in sand and she feverously brushed it off. I reached out and gently stopped her arms.
"What is wrong?" I kept my voice at a whisper; she obviously didn't want people knowing she was here. Now that I had interacted with the girl, we had a strange kind of bond.
"I can't say. He'll get in trouble..." her voice trailed off and she choked on a sob. I put my arm around her shoulders and walked her over to a large, flat boulder. I sat her down and again brushed a lock of hair from her face. She turned to me and gave me a weak smile.
I tilted my head quizzically. Something about that smile was oh so familiar. Had I met this girl before? I didn't think so, but it was a possibility. "What is your name?" I inquired.
I stared at her for a moment. Did I know her? No, I didn't think so. I might have seen her around town, but the name didn't ring a bell.
"And yours?" Her voice was clear and curious. She wasn't crying anymore, which changed the entire atmosphere.