The cold had never bothered him at all after he had trained for hours without end. That day he was going to be dispatched to a camp that had come closer than he had expected and he was not ready for the trip even if he were to decline on what his own father had offered. He knows that he's father could not risk faltering his position as emperor.

It did not take him that long to arrive at the inner palace and thank god that he had a change of clothes after training as he had no clue why he entered a small place that was located behind the once Garnet pavilion that belonged to his mother.

By the way it is decorated today, the place seemed more of the new concubine’s style rather than it being simple. He would have known that his friend would be upset to see such a simple design to be altered the second someone moves in.

Upon entering a small room with so little light shining from the windows. It was filled with small wooden figurines that looked more than pawns in a game of chess, but two stood particularly close, as if the two are made for each other by the dusted old shelf that held a greater importance and sturdiness over the years.

Even if he had made those long ago, it held a great sorrow in his heart. He walked towards the shelf with careful strides to keep himself out of trouble from the creaking noise that irritated his ears.

It was after all the dawn of the day and he had the urge to reenter a perspective of his as he held the other, a figure of a girl who had its eyes painted in baby blue that reminded him of you and the flowers that you looked over and the skies that day.

You were his never ending happiness.

His beam of golden daffodils that gave way to his path, today.

As he put down the figurine back to the side of the other that stood the same, he had taken a glance at one object in the room. There was only one thing that the sun only shines on and it was a sleeping statue, yet it was no ordinary one as much as the Greeks have done with their deities or the great pygmalion who had made his perfect woman, galatea. It was a sentimental and a core memory.

While it may be an inspiration from a book he had read every now and then during his leisure times, that doesn’t make it that worst for him to interpret what was happening in his own world of fantasy.

It was made from the finest materials of a combination of both clay and mud that is suitable for creating such an image of a human being that came close to galatea’s features and the statue itself, harbored no resemblance to the love story but a sleeping figure who is forever in the moment of peace.

He promised himself to you that he wont forget and yet here he stands before the statue he made with his own calloused hands that overtime took longer to heal from the scars of holding a wooden Tang dao in training.

His own eyes filled with feelings of longing, a touch that only he could not obtain even if he had asked for it many times. Yes, he is selfish to ask for such an exotic flower that came from the other side of his country, but it had been too many years. He could not wait any longer.

He couldn’t say he was bored or uninterested. He was wishing that their distance would be much closer than he had anticipated rather than the letters that held no emotions but sincere thoughts and pleasantries of day to day conversations of friends who are far from each other, dare he would have to say that it looked more like two lovers longing for their touch.

That was probably his initial thought before he wrote to you about his new maid that he bought from a famous brothel’s house. You would be furious to read it that it might even give her the chance to scold him in person, but nothing had changed.

You had not come to scold him.

He only chuckled at a mere thought that seemed impossible to happen. It looked too far off to his own reality.

He inched closer to the statue, his breath already turning into a puff of cloud from the lingering coldness of day. He rested his arms on the table where it stands, not minding the dust that had accumulated and had covered his clothes. He could not feel your breath, nor was its warmth ever shown before the day.

It was just a lifeless object.

A presence of a copy from his memory. 

“If only, If you were really real…” He asks himself over and over, not realizing how his lips had slightly raised, almost like his body wanted it from the start.

That feeling grew on him over time as if it had control over his actions. He had a stupid idea to kiss it, to caress its face even if it were not you and lucky enough, he stopped himself from doing so to save him from the embarrassment if someone had walked in on him kissing an object like a madman.

He missed you dearly and he was not aware of the unfamiliar feeling growing within his stomach as he had ‘what ifs’ inside his head if he had told her to stay with him after the incident. If only he had said to you that he will protect you, at all costs.