You used to walk in the garden, amongst the flowers and untended grass. Your feet left little footprints to follow. Now that grass grows untouched, alone, and the flowers wither in their solace.
You’d weave around the marketplace and dance down the pier. The players always lifted their tunes when you passed. People sang more joyously for your presence. You were happy and loved.
Your shoes were worn thin with all the days you spent running across the cobblestone streets. Your clothes bleached in the sun. The rain was sweeter then. The sky was brighter and the birds more lively. Your childish joy brought light to the town.
Then you cut your hair. Your smile faded and your steps lost their spring. You gave up your youthful garb and traded it for armour. Your toys were replaced with blades.
The day you took up your sword was the day the sky wept. The people grew silent. The image of your fading silhouette burned into their memories. You left them behind. You promised you would return someday.
You were too late.
The crops failed. The people left. The land fell into ruin. All that is left are the crumbling husks of buildings, stray dogs, and abandoned tools. And myself. Cursed to sit and wait; to watch for the day the sun returns.