Viktor blames himself for Daisy's death.
I don't own these characters. I wish I did, but I don't.
Porcelain skin. Glinting eyes. Soft hair. Sweet scent. A flower.
Doomed to be a memory.
A very distant memory, so shrouded in the mist of time that he had to strain hard to believe in it.
But it had happened. The grief still made his heart bleed.
He had walked with her in the fields once. It was the beginning of autumn, the lingering heat of the summer hung still in the air, and the seeds of the dandelions had danced with her hair in the breeze.
He had forgotten himself just watching her, she moved so delicately, so beautifully. He was mesmerised.
They had stopped to watch the early evening clouds floating by, her blue eyes a perfect reflection of the sky above them.
That’s where they had shared their fist kiss. Her lips against his. Her hands in his. A beauty with her beast, a rose with her thorns. They didn’t match, but they were perfect.
If he had been there, maybe she would have lived.
It tore him apart.