Floor 68.

XXXIX. ― Ruins.

"Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime."

   People usually described Amethyst Aarons as a bold fearless young woman. She had a strong sense of responsibility, her life was full of ups and downs but she never surrendered. Her father died in battle and yet, the city saw her opening Lune Vermeille to his memory, delivering the most moving eulogy, not only to a father, but also a soldier and a loyal patriot.

   Amethyst was alone in this life and her strength resided in that loneliness; she never needed anyone and it didn't seem like she ever would, one of those days. But the young woman was only human and if there was one thing she feared the most, it was the dark. Amethyst, ― the brave bartender ―, always dreaded the darkness for one reason; all her fears took human forms and hunted her. In the shadows, Amethyst relived the death of her father, the loss of her mother and the absolute solitude she was so used to felt heavier and suffocating. Her nightlight lamp was always on during the night, she would never turn it off.

   Maybe she was afraid of being alone in the dark, maybe she feared the unknown. Or maybe she felt that her pains and guilt were stronger in the darkness. It was the only part of her childhood that she couldn't let go.

   "Do you remember Skylar Blanchard?", Amethyst crooked her head to the side, glancing over to her best friend.

   "Who?", Cihangir demanded as she tore her eyes off the book she was reading.

   The Aarons mansion was calm as usual and everything was scrupulously tidy; it was Amethyst's way of keeping herself busy. She liked to arrange things herself and help the maids. After all, this was her own house and she didn't want to feel like a stranger in it.

   "Émilie Blanchard of Shadehaven.", Amethyst explained with a little smile. "Do you remember her?"

   Cihangir put her book down and gave her friend a warm smile, nodding.

   "Her father was Rémi Olivier Blanchard.", she stated with a shrug. Cihangir's intense blue eyes widened at the unexpected news; Mr. Blanchard was one of her father's dearest friends. Whenever he could, he came to visit them and Cihangir smiled in reminiscence of his bright smile and light mood.

   "She has her father's eyes.", the brunette said lowly, as if to herself. Amethyst nodded in agreement before reaching to a shelf. She put a picture under her friend's sight and Cihangir quickly seized it. The immortalized moment was one of four friends as they brightly smiled at the camera; it was a lovely shot, full of life and happiness. Cihangir bitterly looked away; Mr. Blanchard was now dead and so was her father and Amethyst's. Three out of four people were gone, leaving behind a loving family and an empty home.

   "I visited Mr. Dunham last week.", the bartender spoke, avoiding her friend's eyes. "He didn't recognize me."

   Alexander Dunham was the fourth man on the picture and he was the only one to survive the war. He was a decorated Marine as well, having done a lot for his country. But his heroism came with a high price as he was still experiencing posttraumatic stress disorder and dealing with dementia.

   "When I told him who I was he asked about my father and yours. He said they should catch up." Amethyst lowly said, looking into her friend's watery eyes. "I don't know what broke my heart the most; the fact that he wasn't aware of all that happened to him, to them or that despite his dementia, he never forgot his friends."