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Being stuck in the past could easily be compared to torture. The slow kind, the one that changed you day by day, creating a whole different being, scarred and haunted by old images, by faces that no longer played a part in the story of your life. 

Xan had been one of those faces for Lun. A memory, one laced with pain and agony, lust and joy. Exactly that was what made it difficult for him. The fact that almost every emotion he had ever experienced had been caused by him of because of him. The crown prince simply would breathe and Lun would be able to write hundreds of poems about the beauty of life since he lived, since Xan existed near him, loving him.