Lorain’s hand remained in his, their fingers intertwined, as if by sheer touch they could bind themselves to each other, to the moment, forever. The whispers of the garden wrapped around her, lulling her into a peace she had never known, the flowers swaying in time to the steady beat of her heart. But that tranquility was a fragile illusion, about to shatter.

Something shifted.

A chill crept through the air, an unwelcome breeze rustling the petals beneath her feet. Lorain’s heart sank as the warmth of his hand began to fade, slipping away like the final embers of a dying fire. She blinked, confusion clouding her mind.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, her voice trembling as uncertainty began to replace the peace that had enveloped her moments before.

His eyes, once a deep well of love and understanding, darkened, clouding over as if a storm was brewing within him. He opened his mouth, but no words came. A flicker of light crossed his features—was it hope or despair?—before it vanished, leaving only an unsettling void.

“No! Don’t leave me!” she gasped, tightening her grip on his hand, willing herself to hold onto him, to the warmth that was slipping away.

But it was too late. His form began to dissolve, the very essence of him unraveling before her eyes. She clawed at the empty space, but her fingers met nothing, his warmth evaporating into the cold air.

“Wait!” she cried, her voice breaking, but the garden fell silent, as if mourning the loss of what they had shared.

In mere moments, he was gone—vanished, as if the universe had conspired against her, erasing every trace of him. The flowers that had once swayed joyously around them now stood frozen, their vibrant colors dulled, the whispers turned to eerie echoes of her heartache. The garden, once a sanctuary, transformed into a prison of memories, heavy and suffocating.

Lorain collapsed to her knees, her heart racing in disbelief, breath ragged as sorrow crashed over her like a relentless tide. She pressed her hands against the ground where he had stood, searching for any sign of him, but found only cold earth—no warmth, no trace, only an overwhelming void.

“How…?” she murmured, her voice a fragile whisper. The reality of his absence cut deeper than any wound she had ever known. It felt surreal—how could he simply vanish, like a ghost escaping her grasp? Every moment they had shared, every whispered promise, felt like cruel mockery now, reduced to ashes.

Her body trembled with the weight of her solitude, the crushing realization that the love she had cherished now lay scattered like dead leaves in the wind. The bond they shared had seemed so unbreakable, yet here she was, utterly alone, bereft of the warmth that had ignited her spirit.

“Why…?” she cried to the emptiness, her voice cracking with despair, but there was no answer, only the haunting silence of the garden, a place that had once been vibrant with life.

As rage began to stir within her, a flicker of fire ignited in her chest. Who would do this to her? Who would dare rip apart the fabric of their love? Lorain’s mind raced with thoughts of vengeance. She had loved fiercely, and now that love had turned into a consuming fury that filled her veins with heat.

It was then that the flames flickered in her vision—blazing orange and red, leaping wildly through the darkness, a visual representation of her rage. The world was set ablaze in her mind, flames licking at the edges of her sanity as she plotted her wrath against those who had robbed her of her joy.

No one would take him from her and walk away unscathed. They would pay for this—she would make sure of it. She stood up, fists clenched at her sides, trembling with both grief and fury. The world around her shifted, the flowers whispering their muted condolences, but she refused to listen.

This wasn’t the end; it was only the beginning. He had vanished, yes, but the bond they had shared could not be undone so easily. She could feel it—his essence still lingered, a distant ember that refused to be extinguished.

With a deep breath, Lorain steadied herself. She would not let this moment define her. She would find him, no matter the cost. Her heart ached, yet beneath that pain, a fierce determination ignited. She would navigate the flames of her wrath, crossing any boundaries necessary to reclaim what had been lost.

With one last look at the garden—now a lonely reminder of her pain—Lorain turned away, her heart heavy but resolute. Somewhere, out there, he existed. And she would bring him back, for love like theirs could not be consumed by darkness. It transcended time, space, and the evil forces that sought to tear them apart.

And in that burning resolve, she vowed to unleash a fury that would leave nothing untouched until she found him again.