Grief and the Past

But what can I do? I have no hope, no chance, no future. I have a short life, a life that is slowly fading away. I have a disease, a disease that is slowly killing me. I have no cure, no remedy, no escape.

I have only him, and he has only me in my dreams.

Forest Of Death.

In a dark and gloomy place, there was a throne. On the throne, there was a man. He wore a mask that hid his face, but not his laughter. He laughed maniacally, his voice echoing in the shadows. "Hahahaha, hahaha, hahaha, finally, finally I have killed you for good, hahaha, hahaha, my thousand-year dream is about to come true. Hahaha, hahaha."

"Your highness, I have completed my mission." A man in red armour said, kneeling and bowing his head before the throne.

"Take this," the masked man said, tossing him a small bag of immortal powder. The bag sparkled with a blue light, and tiny particles shimmered on its surface.