A small fire was cackling under an inky sky, illuminating a man nearing his fifties, sitting legs crossed on the dry grass. A circle of stones was placed around it to prevent the clearing from lighting up, but sparks escaped the yellow-orange flames regularly and the man paid close attention that the paper in his hands, though crumbled and faded, did not catch fire.

His hands were shaking. Wet spots appeared on the already damaged parchment but when he searched the sky for clouds, they weren't there. Something wet rolled over his cheek, into his beard, and a moment later he tasted something salty. Will sniffed and rubbed his eyes with one hand.

He had been doing fine for weeks, months even. Though his heart still ached, every time again, when he thought about her, he knew that, if he had been in her shoes, he would have done the same thing without the slightest hesitation. Because of this, he had learned to accept, to move on - but he had never managed to heal himself.

And then he found this.

His eyes scanned the parchment. Although the ink was faded and the paper was covered in all sorts of stains with, as a result, the letters almost unreadable, Will knew exactly what it said. Even with tears rolling down and a blurred vision, he knew the words. After all, he had written them.

As his eyes scanned the document, his lips moving along in inaudible reading, a cold hand clutched his heart. And squeezed, harder and harder until it crumbled and blood slipped through. He was bleeding, bleeding out, and had been ever since the realisation that Alyss wasn't coming back had dawned on him. Even now, a good three years later, the thought of what they had been bereft off punched him, breaking his bones, and the bandages that had been applied over the months were only barely holding him together.

When he finished, he tilted his head, his eyes seeking the stars that they had shared for so long. His hand clutched the paper. Breaths came raggedly, as the last line seemed to haunt him, flowing through his veins and taking over his body.

Until death do us part.

Except he still loved her. And undoubtedly would until his own final breaths.

Will sunk back into the grass and closed his eyes, allowing panicked grief to invade.

As he lay there, seemingly calm from the outside but with his head racing and heart pounding, a light appeared, tiny in the black spots that had clouded his vision. As it grew and approached, features became visible and Will felt there was something oddly familiar about it.

It was Alyss.

There was nothing dreamy or glowing about her, now that he had recognised his lost wife. Carrying herself erect in her long white dress, it was simply Alyss. Her hands lined his face, ice cold on his burning cheeks. Although there was a smile on her face, it was a sad smile, and there was detectable sadness in her eyes, one so desperate as he had never seen before on her and it caused a lump in his throat that made speech impossible. Yet there was a level of mutual understanding between them, running so deeply that the silence provided all that was felt, and she gently stroked his hair away from his face.

Will could feel her fingers wiping away the tears that were still silently disappearing into his beard. He could feel her warm breath, that silenced him.

And he could feel when she moved forward and their lips softly touched.

But when he opened his eyes, she wasn't there.

In a sudden wave of new determination, Will pushed himself up and ripped the last line off of the parchment. He stared at it for a while, trying to gather himself, still feeling her soft kiss on his lips. He sniffed one last time, wiped away the last tears and deeply breathed in, and out.

Then tossed the smaller piece of paper into the fire.

Not until death did them part. But beyond.