He rushes in to hold his hand as the wind - cruel, spiteful wind - tried to pry him away from his beloved. But the fate that was theirs was decisive and this was inevitably that part in all great tragedies that was supposed to end it all.
(Lights out)
He sat there in utter destitution, bowling over the loss of his 1st and as he has repeated - only - love.
The soil over the grave had gone hard and the grass had rolled over it like some green vellum - thick and deliberate. It had been three months since the tragedy, and life as Ryan knew it had changed by one sleight of a hand, one misguided advice, one gesture that turned sour. He lost Mark. He lost his precious jewel to a jealous ex girlfriend who had a knack for conjuring up storms and what not.
Oh, that conjuring bit was meant to be taken in a quite literal sense. Lydia.
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