The air evaporated around him.

Molecules of time and space fell victim to their collapse of existence. For decades he took his time passing the crayon that would draw their map. Created from scratch, this fragile piece of linen held together a story of lust, love, and now loneliness. Without her, he thought, this world will come to an end. Each tree that cast a dance of sunlight on their youthful faces would dissolve into despair the moment she left. The masked ruler that only became known in this moment. Her destruction would be critical, inflated with fragments of what could no longer be. His breathing slowed, the oxygen level of this landscape was scurrying away. His eyes were afraid to close, as when they would reopen, so would a new world. One full of bitter strangeness, containing a breeze of unknowing results. He would surely find her ghost there, he feared such a fate.