Author's note: And, after seeing the POTO musical movie, I got inspired. Again. I swear, my muse gets inspired for almost every single movie I watch. Anyway, here's a short drabble for the very end of it, so if you have not seen the movie and don't want big time spoilers, do not read this. But if you have seen, or don't mind spoilers, hope you enjoy and please, please review.

Disclaimer: I don't own, so don't sue me. Savvy?


The snow crunched beneath his booted feet. A few flakes fell around him, but they were few and far between. The snowstorm had already passed. He would have nothing to slow him down today. He made his way through the cemetery, ignoring the statues and gravestones. The one he sought he knew by heart and no longer needed to glance at the others to check the names.

His hand held his gift tightly, but carefully. He did not want to ruin it, but he did not want to lose part of it either.

The cold wind blew around him, causing his clothes to billow behind him, though they were not as, theatrical, as his old clothes. He ignored the wind though, the chill in the air hardly felt by him. He had grown numb to cold long, long ago.

Finally, he reached his destination, beautiful, pale stone with a small picture. Black and white and even in those dull tones, her beauty shown through. The sight caused painful and bittersweet memories to flood his mind, yet he did not try to shut them out.

They were the most precious memories he possessed.

"You died happy, my angel. For that, I will die in peace one day," a soft, silky voice, barely tainted by age, whispered to the gravestone. A gloved hand held out a red rose, bright and in full bloom. The fingers slid down its stem to reveal an elegant and lavish ring, its stones shimmering with winter's colors. A black ribbon was tied lightly around the stem just below it, a symbol he had though appropriate for his final visit to his protégé.

So many regrets he could feel, so many what ifs he could spout of, telling the gravestone of how things could have been different, could have worked for them. But they hadn't worked out, and they never could, because what ifs and apologies for regrets in the past could not bring back the dead and take them back so many years ago.

He wouldn't waste his time on things that never could have been.

"I never stopped," he whispered as he moved to walk past the gravestone and leave. "I can tell you this now. Now you will never feel guilt for it. But I never stopped loving you, Christine," he whispered before setting the rose down on the side of her gravestone. Her could have said many things at that moment. He could just simply say farewell, or make his final parting with her full of lavish and sincere words.

Ten thousand words came to mind, and he could not say any of them. He could not bring himself to say goodbye. He choked on the word before the first syllable could escape his throat.

Icy blue eyes that could be as cold as winter drifted to another's resting place, the mausoleum of Christine's father. Another memory resurfaced, and his eyes became glassy as he looked down. He closed his eyes, forcing the tears down and then looked back to her grave. His throat loosened, allowing him to finally speak again.

"Help me say, goodbye."