Crimson liquid had coursed down his body, his small body, in which he had used to save the life of his beautiful white rose, his dynamite girl, the woman who stood above him, her arms wrapped around him. As hazy as his vision had been, he could see her tears forming and falling down onto his face, his pale face, where the honey glows that no longer glow had once been. He rose a shaky hand towards her, a bloody glove cupped her cheek lightly, hardly with any pressure behind it. He was weak and quickly slipping away. She held onto his hand firmly, squeezing it, feeling his life drain away, she cried harder. Soon two other figures came up close, a little girl and a giant, two friends of his, to see him off at this sad end of his story. He blinked, parting his lips slightly in a sort of smile but said nothing, his wife cursed, cursed to the skies, to the heavens, to anyone who would care to listen to the lament of a widowed woman for the second time. she held him, her love, her everything close to her as his breathing began to subside. His eyes began to close, slowly, softly, tears falling from his anemic eyes, streaming down his cheeks. Crimson liquid had coursed down his body, his small body, in which he had used to save the life of his beautiful white rose, his dynamite girl, the woman who he had died in the arms of.

Because you don't come back when you die outside of your game.

To end the Christmas season in a bit of a low tone.

I'll probably write something happy after this.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!