I'm not going to lie to you. I have a strong hate for Calem and Yvonne. Fat chance their sister, Serena, is going to be much different.  I know their entire family, and I understand they have it rough thanks to their good-for-nothing father. But that's no excuse to kill the only person I truly loved. Since then, I'd hated everyone in that family. 

Kids come and go, wanting to get their first Pokémon. Froakie, Fennekin, Chespin, all of them had their share. And I've had my fair share of such hope for the future. Just like he said before, "What are you trying to protect? A tomorrow that's worse than today?" He was right about this place. I should've just listened. 

I made sure the rest of Lys' Pokémon got sent to new homes, but I kept the Pyroar that was used to save me. It reminds me of him, with its sassy attitude and red mane. If anyone dares argue with me, it growls at anyone who approaches me with an angered attitude. 

I head out for the first time this week, his coat draped around my shoulders as usual. April 6th, 2017- exactly four years since he died. Everyone is celebrating the death of Lysandre, the person who almost destroyed literally everything. But also the person who saved six lives in return for his own. People failed to see the good in him; they saw only the bad. They never saw the loving Lysandre that I saw. Nevertheless, they have sad lives, but still a lot less sad than my own. Everyday I wish to end myself for good and join him in blissful, eternal slumber. 

After going out to get some food, I drop it off at home and head to Geosenge. It was once beautiful, with stones that he was always interested in. But now there was a crater where the weapon had lowered itself into the ground. Around the crater are gravestones, carved with the names of the hundreds of people that died. One of them bore his name, on a rather large chunk of stone. He was loved by the public once, and they wanted to make sure he rests as peacefully as possible, I guess. 

He always said that change was for the better. But everything changed for me when he died. I didn't want to associate myself with anyone else, because I wanted to be loyal and out of fear that if I did ever love anyone else, I'd lose them as well. I loved him, and he was ripped out of my arms by the cruel grasp of fate. I'd stopped to pick a flower earlier, so I placed it in front of his grave. I then silently walked away, not wanting to relish in any more memories with him that will eventually turn from joyous to saddened.