Alexandra. This whole time as I ached and agonized over the connection I feel so strongly with Warrick, he has been fantasizing I am another. The woman he loves, to be exact. A bucket of freezing cold water dumped over my head would have been less startling than the Necromancer whispering her name in my ear.

In unison we both quickly pulled away to stand there awkwardly waiting for the other person to say.. something. Anything. The gap between us had become bottomless all of a sudden.. and words could 'try' to fill it..

..but neither of us spoke up. I was too stunned to make heads or tails of what I was feeling and Warrick seemed okay to leave it as it was, for he soon turned back to the path and continued on. After a long time, I followed. Now the gap was physical too, a veritable chasm of space. At least if my eyes filled with tears, I would not have to share my shame with the man and if I was around him, I would cry.

I know I only got what I deserved. Warrick of Gloumenwood is a widow mourning the love his life. Maturity and wisdom would counsel me to give him a wide berth so the man might heal his soul in time. I have only pestered him with my handful of questions which bring the woman's death and his own loss back to the surface. It is cruel! For he is stuck on her, his heart raw with her absence whether she is able to care for him now or not. I get it. I understand.

Yes, I got what I deserved, yet I am still suffering the grips of a craving. I crave to heal him myself.

That's the ugly truth.

[0 petals fell]