Marc sat down at his desk once Blumiere finally fell asleep, pulling out his inkwell, quill, and notebook.

He didn't title the top of the page with a date like usual. Instead, he allowed his mind to stop trying so hard and let his heart and his hand take control. He filled pages upon pages with words. Was it messy and unorganized? Most likely. That's how life was, though. 

He kept writing and writing. Whenever his hand would start to cramp, he would simply switch which one he was writing with. He wasn't as good at writing with his left hand, but he didn't want to stop and ruin the flow. 

He stopped trying to write in a structured format and simply allowed himself to just write a story, HIS story.

He wrote about all kinds of things. About the sky, about light, about dark, about the books he's read, about the stories he's been told, about the people he's met, and about the future he would have. He couldn't even keep track of everything he wrote down. He stopped thinking of his writing as an assignment and started thinking of it as a way to express thoughts and inner emotions. He was finally starting to see how horribly dull perfection was. His entire life was sheltered and boring simply because he was striving so hard for perfection. He never allowed himself to write whatever came to his mind on the pages because he was afraid of making mistakes. 

Meeting Merlon was technically a mistake. Marc knew now that it was the mistakes that will often lead to the greatest things. 

He wrote a story about a man. A man who didn't truly live until he was finally brave enough to step outside and take a risk. He wrote the story of a beautiful girl who was confused. He wrote the story of a powerful leader who must have had reasons behind his cruelty. He wrote the story of his best friend, who had shown him light and made him realize that there was value in himself.

Once he finally made it to the final page, he let out a sigh. His hands were both shaking and cramping. He was exhausted and tired. He wasn't sure how long he had been writing by then. It had gone past the point where he saw the sun rise and set outside of his window. 

He smiled to himself, then pressed his quill to the final page.

There's a magic that comes with forgiveness. It's a power that I cannot quite explain. We strive for others to forgive us for the mistakes they make, but no one ever talks of the feeling the individual giving the forgiveness will be hit with. It is like a weight is being lifted off of me for good. I realize now that by withholding my forgiveness, I was hurting myself more than anyone else. 
That doesn't mean everyone deserves forgiveness. I am simply saying... sometimes, people should forgive others, not because others deserve it, but because they deserve that inner peace. They deserve the opportunity to move forward and continue living.
Still, it is quite hard to forgive. 
I'm not talking about forgiving others. Forgiving others is easy. The challenge was forgiving myself for not being enough for her. The challenge was forgiving myself for everything. 
The art of forgiveness is still not a concept I have mastered. I'll be the first to admit that I am flawed. However... I want to try. I want to really try, for myself and for my child. Perhaps if the world was more forgiving, we wouldn't be at war. There are good people on both sides. There doesn't need to be separation or fighting. If we as a people learn to forgive, we can move forward and become stronger. We can become happier. 
I forgive you both. For everything. For every tear you've made me shed and for every time you've made me feel worthless. I know deep down, you're both good people in some way. Danielle, you were kind, strong, and fearless. You lived your life to the fullest. Even kind people can do hurtful things, and even though you've hurt me, a part of me will always still love you because I know you still have a good heart.
The sun has just set on another day. You were buried last night. I haven't seen you yet. I wanted to attend the funeral, but I didn't want to be surrounded by dozens of people giving me pity. I will be visiting you often on my own, with Blumiere of course. I won't let him forget you, and will try to fill your shoes to give him the life he deserves. I'll keep him safe, while also letting him grow into his own person, just as I believe you would have wanted.
I wish you all the best, and as always, I am going to continue to try. I'll try to be brave, I'll try to be smart, I'll try to be good.
Most importantly, I'll try to be forgiving.
With much love, Marc

He set his quill down, then looked out the window. The sky was dark once again. He found himself closing the book before he could even let the ink dry, no longer caring if the ink smeared. Then, he walked over to where Blumiere was quietly sleeping.

He gently stroked the side of the child's face, then carefully picked him up, cradling him close to his chest with one arm. He reached forward, grabbed his lantern with his other arm, then began walking out of his small house.

"Let's go see your mother," Marc breathed, walking slowly, no longer noticing or minding his slightly uneven steps.

Meanwhile, Merlon walked up to Merloo's house, holding the Light Prognosticus. He was slightly tense and nervous. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself, before briskly knocking on Merloo's door, copying Marc's usual three even knocks.

A few moments later, the green-cloaked ancient opened the door.

"Merlon?" Merloo questioned, yawning. "What is it? It's nighttime. Why aren't you asleep?"

Merlon hadn't really noticed, but ever since Marc started visiting more consistently, he had been finding it easier to stay up late, which in turn made him sleep in much more. His entire sleep schedule had essentially been destroyed.

"I'm here to return the Light Prognosticus," Merlon stated, holding the book out to Merloo.

Merloo frowned and cocked his head to the side, clearly too exhausted to fully comprehend what was going on. 

"I don't think anyone ordered you to return this," Merloo yawned. "Am I forgetting something?"

"No, sir," Merlon stated. "I'm resigning from my position."

Merloo flinched, looking Merlon dead in the eyes. He squinted, too exhausted to tell if Merlon was being serious or not.

Then, the green-cloaked man laughed.

"Ha! Good one," Merloo chuckled, patting Merlon's shoulder. "But seriously, it's late. Can we joke about this in the morning-"

"It's not a joke, sir," Merlon corrected, keeping a serious expression on his face. "I'm resigning from my position. Give my title and my responsibilities to someone else."

Merloo slowly stopped laughing when he realized that Merlon was being serious. A confused expression crossed his face. His neon-yellow eyes squinted slightly and he tilted his head to the left.

"Why?" Merloo questioned.

If Merlon was being serious, then this seemed quite random. The young ancient had spent his life preparing for this job! Why would he suddenly show up at Merloo's house in the middle of the night and claim to be quitting? Did something happen? He couldn't have just lost interest.

"I met someone," Merlon stated, trying not to break eye contact. He needed to sound and appear confident in his decision. He knew he couldn't back out now. 

"A girl?" Merloo exclaimed, furrowing his eyebrows.

Merlon shook his head no.

"Then what's the problem?!" Merloo cried out, holding his arms out. "Merlon, you're allowed to have friends. The rule is you can't fall in LOVE."

"Why not?! It wasn't always that way," Merlon said.

Merloo let out a tired groan and rubbed his eyes. "You know, because love is what the Light Prognosticus is centered around. People like us can't get involved in it because it's powerful. It's gotta be reserved for the legendary heroes-"

"What if I wanted to be one of the legendary heroes?!" Merlon interrupted, and Merloo drew back.

The blue-cloaked ancient let out a sigh.

"I met someone who makes me confused," Merlon explained, fighting to sound sure of himself. He couldn't allow himself to get flustered and appear weak. He needed to show Merloo that he was serious. "I... met a smart, selfless, quirky, amazing man, so I think it's best that I resign."

Merloo's eyes slowly widened. His jaw dropped slightly and his chin angled downward. 

"Merlon... do you love him?" Merloo asked, his voice slightly quieter than before.

Merlon paused, keeping a serious expression.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know at all, I've never felt this way. But I would like the opportunity to find out. I... he once told me that we aren't truly alive until we find love. Well, I haven't felt truly alive until I met him. Even with my position, I haven't felt true purpose in my life until he showed up. He makes me want to be a better person, he makes me want to see the world in a better way. He's a bit odd and he's not perfect, but he makes me feel... he makes me feel confused and alive at the same time."

Merloo could only stand silent, unsure of how to even reply. He had never heard of a situation like this one. It was rare for people like Merlon to wish to resign, but when they did it was always because of a girl and because they were absolutely positive about their feelings. This... Merloo wasn't sure how to handle this. Something like this was literally unheard of!

"I know it's against a lot of rules, being this close to him," Merlon explained. "I know I'm not allowed to feel this way about anyone, let alone a man. On top of that, he's married. I don't even know if he actually feels the same way. To make things worse, he's a member of the Tribe of Darkness, so it is probably against his rules to be this close with me too, but I don't care! Besides, the rules weren't always like this, right? I mean, a long time ago people didn't even care if ancients like us fell in love. The only reason that rule was put into effect was to prevent our focus from drifting, and I understand that, but-"

"HOLD UP," Merloo interrupted, holding his hand out in front of Merlon. He suddenly got very quiet and serious. "He's from the Tribe of Darkness?"

Merlon winced, then nodded. He honestly thought that Marc being from the Tribe of Darkness was the least of his concerns, considering all the other points he made. "Yes, but he's not a bad person! I promise-"

"Uh-oh," Merloo breathed, grasping Merlon's arm and pulling him into his house. He quickly shut his front door, then looked at Merlon with a frantic expression.

"Calm down! It's not a big deal!" Merlon assured him. "He's not going to attack us or anything-"

"You fool! Merlon, this isn't about whether or not he's a bad person!" Merloo cried. "I don't care! I don't care if you're in love! I don't care if he's a man! I don't care if he's even married! This isn't as simple and small as you resigning from your job! This is life or death!!"

Merlon frowned, a vertical crease forming between his eyebrows.

"Life or death...?" he asked, suddenly much quieter.

Merloo frantically nodded.

"You have to break off this relationship! Give it up now while there's still time!" Merloo cried, talking quickly and frantically. "This is serious business- DANGEROUS business! You either haven't thought this through, or you simply don't care, but you need to think of the consequences. They're going to either kill you or kill him if they can't find you!"

All the color suddenly drained from Merlon's face. He felt his heart begin to beat harder and faster. 

He pushed himself away from Merloo, then began frantically pacing across the room. He nervously bit at his nails as he walked to and fro.

To and fro.

To and fro.

To and fro.

To and fro.

To and fro.

To and fro.

"It's okay," Merloo assured him, still sounding the opposite of calm. The green-cloaked ancient ran his hands through his yellow hair and took a few deep breaths, trying to compose himself and get the panicked feeling under control. "As long as none of the tribesmen know about you-"

"One spotted me," Merlon admitted, his face growing paler by the second. "One spotted me... and Marc saved him- DANG IT MARC! I have to go!"

He shoved the Light Prognosticus into Merloo's arms, then took off running as fast as he could. He ran faster than he could ever remember running before. His lungs burned and his mind was frantic.

Meanwhile, Marc sat down at Danielle's quiet grave. The marble tombstone was polished and shining. He thought it was quite fitting for her. She always had such a bright, shining personality. There was something so frivolous about her. She reminded him of a diamond, always so sparkly.

He sat down next to the stone, holding Blumiere close. He didn't say much. He simply sat with his back to the grave, closing his eyes and just listening to the sound of his own heartbeat.

"Finally left your house, I see," A gruff voice stated, making Marc flinch.

Marc quickly opened his eyes and sat up, clutching Blumiere closely as he saw Kylian towering over him, gripping his staff in his right hand.

"I didn't expect you to be here," Marc quietly noted. "Hey Kylian-"

"Shut up, Twig. You're going to tell me where your ancient friend is." Kylian stated, pointing his staff at Marc with narrowed eyes. 

Marc winced, briefly looking down at Blumiere, then up at Kylian.

"What will you do if I don't?" Marc asked, knowing very well what the Tribe of Darkness tended to do in situations like this one.

Kylian raised an eyebrow, then grinned.

Marc knew exactly what that meant.

"Are you going to kill me?" Marc asked.

There was a sharp nod, and a rush of anxiety and fear flooded Marc's veins and coursed throughout his body.

He looked to his sides, then down at Blumiere. There wasn't time to think, there wasn't time to calculate. 

He suddenly got up and started running, holding Blumiere closely with one hand and holding his lantern with his other. He could hear the sparks from the attacks Kylian was forming from behind him, and somehow managed to duck without getting hit by them as he kept sprinting, faster than he had ever sprinted before. He knew Kylian was stronger and more powerful than him, but he needed to try. 

"You idiot, I'm trying to save YOU. Just tell me how to get to the ancient!" Kylian demanded, making Marc flinch as he continued running.

The only problem was, there was no place to run. If he ran to Merlon, Kylian would kill him. If he ran home, he'd be cornered. There really was no place he could go. This entire moment felt like a chase scene out of an action novel. 

There was a teleportation chime, and Marc found himself running right into Kylian, which made him stumble and fall onto his back. He held his child tightly, hoping and praying that all the action wasn't hurting him, then scrambled backward, shifting his lantern into his staff and holding it out in front of himself, which made Kylian grin a sinister grin.

"There's that fighter's spirit," Kylian teased, slowly trailing forward while Marc continued to scramble back, his breathing heavy. "Why don't you finish what you started back at the duel? Go ahead, I'm waiting."

Kylian was seconds away from bringing the tip of his staff down on Marc, but Marc was miraculously able to hold his own staff up and block the attack. His eyes widened with fear and he began to tremble. It was moments like this when he realized how he really didn't want to die. He couldn't die now, not when the future was finally starting to look bright.

He wasn't going to let himself die. For Merlon's sake, for Blumiere's sake, for Danielle's sake. He had to live for all of them.

He brought his left foot up and kicked Kylian back, then scrambled to his feet. Everything felt significantly harder with Blumiere in one arm and his staff in the other. He was lucky that the glow from the weapon was equally as bright as his lantern's glow, otherwise, he would have most certainly frozen up.

Breathing heavily, he adjusted his grip on his staff, then fired another bright projectile, similar to the one he fired at the duel. It was then that he realized that while Kylian's projectiles were often fired in straight lines, like pullets, his own had an almost wavy, curved line of fire as if he was throwing curveballs. He missed Kylian by about two feet, but he wasn't really aiming to hit him. Only to hopefully scare him off.

Kylian turned his head and brought his gaze to where Marc's attack had hit a tree, making the leaves shift to a slightly brighter green color. 

"Unnatural," he spat. "Everything about you. Your eyes, your hair, your magic, it's ALL unnatural."

He fired a quick yet powerful attack that just barely brushed across the left side of Marc's face. There was no pain, but Marc could feel a heated tingling sensation starting at the left side of his forehead and spreading down to his jaw. There was a small line of liquid trickling from somewhere above his eye, falling down like tears. He brought his staff close and used his pinky finger to wipe the liquid from his face, noticing its thick texture and its dark red coloring, similar to Kylian's cloak. For a moment, he was worried that his eye was what was bleeding, but there was no pain and he could still see, so it must have been from his forehead.

A drop of blood dripped down his cheek and fell from his face, landing on Blumiere's forehead, and that was enough to convince Marc that this needed to end. For good. He was not going to let Kylian put this child in the middle of a fight because of this. 

Marc sprinted forward, moving in zig-zags to make himself a more difficult target. Instead of firing magical attacks, he stuck to what he knew would tick Kylian off the most. If he learned anything from the duel, it was that while Kylian was stronger, he was faster. He slid behind him, then used the base of his staff to trip Kylian, making him fall onto his back. Once the red-cloaked tribesman was on the ground, Marc scrambled in front of him and held the glowing edge of his staff inches from Kylian's face. 

Kylian's eyebrows raised, as if impressed. 

Drops of thick, warm blood dripped down Marc's cheeks like tears, but he still couldn't feel any pain. Only a warm tingling sensation and the stickiness of blood starting to clot and dry on his skin.

"You're the one with the power here," Kylian told him, pointing his own staff away and giving Marc the opportunity to shoot. "It's you, me, or him. You get to choose."

He was giving him the chance to finish what he should have at the duel. It was Marc's right to have killed him, after all. He won fair and square. Kylian missed. That missed shot should have been a price he had to pay with his life. 

The choice should have been easy. It was easy. There was nothing stopping Marc from ending everything right at that moment. 

It was between Merlon and Kylian, the choice was simple.

The tip of his staff glowed a white color, the gentle icy blue hue fading from the staff.

It was Kylian's life or Merlon's life. The choice was easy.

Kylian's deep blue eyes narrowed as if he was silently egging Marc on. Daring him to do it. 

Marc's body grew tense and his eyes narrowed.

It was Merlon or Kylian. The choice was simple.

"Do it," Kylian whispered. "We're waiting, Marc."

His hands began to shake.

Merlon or Kylian.

His breathing quickened and his grip tightened.

Merlon or Kylian. Simple decision.

It should have been a simple decision. It was a simple decision, so why was he hesitating? Why was he taking so long? Merlon or Kylian. The man who loved him and made him feel safe, or the man who was forcing him to make this decision. 

The choice was easy.

It should have been easy.

But, it wasn't so simple.

Marc's grip loosened and his gaze softened as the sound of his own steady, yet slightly uneven heartbeat reminded him who he was.

If it was down between Kylian's life and Merlon's life, the choice would have been easy.

He slowly lowered his staff.

With his own life in the picture, the decision was made significantly harder. 

It wasn't Kylian or Merlon. It was Kylian or Marc, and that was a significantly tougher question.

Could he live with being a murderer? Could Blumiere live with him being a murderer? What would Merlon think? Merlon probably wouldn't mind, seeing how he acted at the duel, but it wasn't Merlon's opinion that mattered here. What would Danielle say? No, her voice didn't matter either. 

Marc's breath hitched, and he slowly stepped back, bowing his head and shifting his staff back into its usual lantern form.

Kylian's eyebrows briefly furrowed, then a sadistic grin made its way onto his face as he stood up and grasped his own staff.

Marc looked down at the ground, defeated and terrified.

He was stuck. Kylian had him cornered. Kylian forced him into a situation where he couldn't win. Even if Marc killed him, he wouldn't have saved himself. He would kill the person he wanted to be alongside Kylian if he allowed himself to fall as low as taking another life. He would have been throwing away the future he wanted, the person he wanted to be. He would have become a person drowned in guilt, and he knew he would have never been able to live with that. 

"It's nothing personal, Marc," Kylian stated. "There's a war going on out there."

Marc knew that. Everyone knew that. It was common knowledge that the war could never touch anyone who drew within the lines and followed all the rules. 

Marc stepped out. He broke free, and this was the price he was going to have to pay.

If the choice was between Kylian and Merlon, it would have been easy. A part of him wished the choice was between Kylian and Merlon. He wanted to live. He wanted to live more than anything.

Still, he couldn't tell Kylian where Merlon was. He had to stay strong. He had to stay silent.

"You're seriously not telling me?!" Kylian exclaimed, a mixture of amused and enraged. 

Marc nodded.

He knew that this would come. It was the price he knew he would have to pay for saving Kylian that night. 

"Please tell me, Marc," Kylian breathed, lowering his voice slightly. "I would much rather kill him than you."

Marc looked for signs of lying. He found none. 

"I can't," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I'm sorry."

He clutched Blumiere and his lantern tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew he couldn't run or fight anymore. Trying to escape would only delay the inevitable.

Kylian let out a quiet groan, then grit his teeth. Of course, Marc wouldn't cooperate, even when given the chance to turn things around. 

"What is WRONG with you?!" Kylian cried out. "I'm giving you the opportunity to do the right thing! Why are you being so difficult?! Think of the tribe- of Danielle!"

"I'm thinking of Merlon," Marc quietly replied. "I don't want him to die."

"Why are you choosing this?! To spite me?! To make me out to be the bad guy?!" Kylian asked, his tone growing angrier and angrier. "You have a community here! Why? Why, why, why, WHY?!"

"This isn't about you at all," he breathed. "Everyone here... everyone can live without me. Blumiere can live without me. He'll have you. I, on the other hand, can't live without Merlon. Not if his death is my fault. This way, only one of us dies."

Kylian shook his head. Marc was absolutely insane. Insane, and stupid. 

"You writers say the most deranged garbage," Kylian sneered.

"You're stalling," Marc pointed out. "Why?"

"Because Danielle loved you!" Kylian exclaimed. "She chose you, and now you're choosing him!"

"I'm not changing my answer," Marc stated.

Kylian's shoulders sagged just slightly.

He already knew that, though. He could tell that Marc wasn't going to change his answer from the second he asked if he was going to be killed. Some people just couldn't be persuaded.

Marc bowed his head.

"Tch, you're not even going to look me in the eyes?" Kylian asked. "Pathetic, as always."

"Would you like me to look you in the eyes?" Marc asked, opening one eye and looking over at Kylian. 

"Shut up," Kylian huffed. 

Marc nodded, then opened both his eyes so he could look down at Blumiere, who was still peacefully sleeping in his arms.

Marc felt the tears begin to trickle down his face from underneath his spectacles. The water mixed with the thick blood on the left side of his face, and he was grateful that Blumiere was asleep so he wouldn't have to see. Marc softly smiled, trying to hold in a quiet sob.

"You'll take care of him, right?" Marc asked, his voice breaking.

"Of course," Kylian stated. "He's my child. You gave up any title you had when you made your decision."

"Right..." Marc breathed. He quietly sniffled, keeping his head low. "Thank you..."

His life didn't flash before his eyes like it did at the duel. He wasn't sure why he felt so different. Perhaps it was because he wasn't ready to die at the duel. Make no mistake, he didn't feel ready to die at the cemetery either, but... he at least had the knowledge that he had gotten to live. He at least could be comforted by the fact that he got to hold Blumiere, that he got to experience the Star Festival with Merlon, and that he got to have closure with Danielle.

That was enough for him.

No, that was a lie. It wasn't enough for him. He wanted that future he was about to have. He wanted Merlon to hold him close and tell him everything was going to be alright. He wanted to go back to that safe place and read stories forever. 

This wasn't enough for him. It was never going to be enough. Still, he was grateful for what he was able to have. Grateful for each moment he spent feeling alive. 

"You'll make it fast, right?" Marc asked.

Kylian stilled, then slowly nodded, thinking of Danielle.

"Yes... I'll make it fast."

"Thank you."

. . .

"MARC!" Merlon desperately cried, after having run through the woods and finally finding Marc's village. He sprinted down the streets, desperately searching for Marc. He kept his hood up, hoping that it would make fewer people notice him, not that many people were out. It was a quiet night, and dawn was approaching.

He sprinted up and down every street he could, growing more and more worried by the minute. He didn't care how he felt anymore. He didn't care about anything. All that mattered was that Marc was okay. He had to be okay. 

"MARC?!" Merlon continued to desperately cry. "MARC, PLEASE! MARC!" 

He continued running and running until he finally found him at the town's graveyard.

There was silence in his mind for a moment, then a loud ringing in his ears.

He shook his head no as soon as he saw him.

"Marc..." Merlon whispered. 

His heart stopped.

No... that couldn't be him. Merlon's eyes must have been tricking him. That couldn't be Marc. That couldn't be Marc's lantern, sitting beside him, no longer glowing.

He sprinted over to him, trembling violently. Merlon couldn't get his usually steady hands to stop shaking. It was hard to swallow. It was hard to breathe. His chest began to burn. 

He collapsed next to Marc and desperately shook his shoulder. Marc's skin was just as cold as usual, but there was a lifeless quality about the way he was slumped on the ground, no longer clutching his lantern. His hair covered the top of his usually luminescent silver eyes, which were just barely open, looking emptily at nothing in particular. There was dried blood plastered down the left side of his face, a small pool of it gathered on the ground beneath him.

"Marc-" Merlon squeaked, his voice breaking. Tears began to well up in his eyes, distorting his vision as he violently started to sob. He pulled Marc up into a hug, cradling his head closely. He buried his face in Marc's shoulder, wanting to feel the same feeling of closeness he felt when he woke up in Marc's arms that one night.

"Marc, please," Merlon whimpered as he squeezed his lifeless body tighter. 

His bottom lip quivered. He shuttered, his haltering breaths painful and difficult to control. He wanted Marc to hold him back. He wanted to feel Marc's arms around him, holding him like he did the night when he slept over. 

"Marc, please..." Merlon begged, his voice softer now. "Please... I need you. I really need a friend right now. I really need you right now..."

He sniffled, wiping his eyes before placing a gentle kiss on Marc's right temple. A small part of him hoped that Marc would wake up because of it. After all, there were countless tales, legends, and prophecies that foretold true love being the spell that could save someone from anything, even death. But at the end of the day, that's all those stories were. Legends.

Merlon couldn't stop trembling. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking, even as he gently stroked Marc's dark, wavy hair, and he knew that this was his fault. This happened because he didn't do as Marc told him. Marc told him not to go to that duel. Then, Marc specifically told him not to allow himself to be seen. If he had just listened, then Marc would be fine. If he had just done as Marc told him to, everything would be different. 

If he never met Marc, he'd be alive. He'd be okay.

He shouldn't have gotten involved. He should have just done what he was told and stood back. He wasn't supposed to be the type of person who's part of the action. He was supposed to be the person who just sits back and reads. Sits back and gives advice. 

Because this is what happens when people don't do what they're told.

Guilt streamed down the sides of his face in the form of tears. However, even with all the pain he was feeling, he couldn't bring himself to wish he never met Marc. He wouldn't trade the time they had together for anything in the world. Marc helped him learn what it meant to be alive. The only problem was that he had to give his life in order to teach Merlon that lesson.

"I-I..." Merlon started, his voice barely even audible. He sniffled and sobbed as he spoke, making his words muddy. 

"I think..." Merlon continued, holding Marc close, desperately wishing he could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Memories flashed through his mind. Memories of the first time he met Marc. Merlon had taken his shoulder and led him through some breathing exercises in order to calm him down. 

He recalled the time Marc asked him what love was, then explained how he viewed the concept. He remembered the time Marc showed up at his house in the middle of the night, then collapsed into his arms, sobbing. He remembered the wonderful night the two of them shared, looking up at the sky as star bits rained all around them. He remembered the gentle softness there was to Marc's voice. He remembered the way the stars would reflect off his glasses every time he looked up. 

He held onto those memories tightly. 

"I think a world where we could be together would be splendid too..." Merlon sniffled.

He softly smiled a devastated, heartbroken smile and buried his face further into Marc's shoulder.

"Silly... outlandish... yet splendid..."