Rose Without Her Jack
The night breeze lifted his hair, softening his sharp features.
He knelt in front of my tombstone, fingertips brushing its cold surface, eyes full of longing.
"Wendy. Rose."
He said my name so gently. I hadn't heard him speak like that in a long, long time.
He leaned down and kissed the photo etched on my stone.
"You've waited long enough, haven't you?" he murmured. "I'm coming to join you."
A gentle smile curved his lips. Then, without hesitation, he drove the blade into his chest.