Gerrit sat at his kitched table in a daze. He read Vivian's text again.

And again.

Then he tried calling her, to no avail. He tried several times more, each time more frantic than the last. He sent texts, each and every one of which got lost somewhere in the Aether. This is a misunderstanding. She wouldn't. But maybe she would? Maybe he had scared her off, had been ignoring her boundaries and in had made her feel unsafe and pressured.

At some point he only watched his phone, bloody tears welling in his eyes and heaving to keep his composure. He couldn't. The Ogre started sobbing, silently at first but as his Seeming's blood started boiling he screamed wordlessly, screamed until his throat burned and his voice turned into a raspy whisper.

He wanted to wreck this appartment, to throw anything he could get his hands on out of the very same window Vivian had thrown out that fan. Instead he put his head on his hands, those hands that clawed and scratched at the very scars and scabs the Airtouched had called beautiful once.

Once the first wave of emotion has washed over him he got up and dragged himself to bed.

***


The next day he called is part-time help and called in sick. Rosie's Roses would remain closed for the rest of the week. Vivian liked the flowers there. She wanted to throw a party at her garden to plan as many flowers as possible.

He thought he was beyond crying, but there seemed to be an endless supply of tears inside the Stonebones. At least he managed to stay decently quiet while Ram was at home. He didn't need pity right now.

Vivian left. He tried calling her again, but her decision seemed to be final. It was almost funny: it took a Summer to show this Onyx Courtier how to pull off a disappearing act straight out of the Ice Law book.
Incredibly funny. Damn funny, all right.

Was this a reminder of the Wyrd? Maybe it came directly from Winter itself: in the end he was bound to mourn, in the end there was only Sorrow. Why should he even try? Yes, those hours with her had been nice, but they absolutely paled in contrast to the gut-wrenching pain he was going through now.
He was being too soft, too naive. He needed to fulfill his duties to his friends, to this Freehold - but he shouldn't expect too much in return.

Exhausted, Gerrit drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

***


On the third day after-

On the next day he dragged himself out of his room, looking for anything to eat. It's not like he needed that particular reminder, but mourning really burned those calories.
He felt hollow. No, actually he felt full: full of that hope and giddyness that ultimately got turned into Sorrow, full of resentment for messing this up again and for her just leaving like that. He was full of pain. Not the pain he grew to know, to bear. This mind hurt differently.

He had no idea on how to proceed from here - he was fed up with throwing himself on the ground to have everybody just walk over him, fed up with offering smiles all the time while swallowing down his feelings - but something within him knew what he could do in the short term.

So Gerrit took up his phone and wrote another text.