AN: This is an experiment to see if I can write something without a plot yet be continuous. There will be time skipping because I will be writing whatever I want whenever I want so nothing is in order. You guys will see. This story features Reyphelia (Reynaldo and Ophelia), because this is a story for one of my friends who somehow got it in her mind to ship it. Her brain works in the weirdest ways. Also chapters will probably average around 1k words because this will be expressly written for when I need her homework - she charges 1k a page! I feel swindled.

Word Count: 1,346

Disclaimer: I don't own anything okay.

Memories. That was all that was left. And these memories - they would soon wither away once he was gone too.

That shouldn't be too long now. Reynaldo had lived much too long, carrying these burdens for what seemed like an endless amount of time. Would he finally be able to meet her once more? Her sweet face, her beautiful hair, her cheerful personality... He could see why the late Prince Hamlet was so bewitched with her. Both of them loved her, he knew that now. There could never be happiness for him with her, not when he was just a lowly servant and she was just a tool for family's advancement in society.

This sickness brought upon him was a blessing, or so he viewed it. The doctors said he had a month, maybe two, left to live. It wasn't too bad, he supposed. Living life without her was hard enough for the year and a half he already had to endure. He was ready.

Yet this illness was taking an impossible long time to take effect. Why was it taking so long? Already they had extended it one month, two, three, four. What more was there to live for that it was being extended? Nothing, nothing at all. There was nothing left for this servant.

Although his master and his family were all gone, he still served. He stayed in their little complex in the castle. The house might have been vacant, yet this belongings have yet to be stirred from the way they were before the calamity hit it.

Including Lady Ophelia's room. It was untouched. Pristine. He filled a vase with water and placed the lone white rose into it. There, on her bedside table, was where it belonged. There it was, looking as beautiful and innocent as she had.

It wasn't until the red droplets started to fall, landing on the snowy petals, did he notice he had pricked himself with a thorn. Few more fell into the water, creating crimsons tendrils. The dark liquid swirled in the water, and his eyes were transfixed on the ringlets that formed. It was... enthralling.

Two years ago.

Today he waited near the front door, pretending he was observing the household plants. Lord Polonius was out on a trip - he would not be back until a week later. Lady Ophelia would be arriving soon. Lord Laertes was to arrive soon as well.

Ah, no. That was no correct. Today was a Thursday, and the Lady was spending the afternoon with Prince Hamlet. Lord Laertes could fend for himself, and would probably not be home until late.

Reynaldo would have the house to himself for the afternoon. Although he was a bit dismayed at his little miscalculation. He had been looking forward to see the Lady once more. She was always so pretty... No, he could not think of her in that way. It was not correct, they were worlds away. He knew he could only content himself with exchanging happy words and looking back in those days where it was okay to play together as servant and mistress.

There were only two years to part them, after all. As one of the servant's sons, he had been obligated to stay at the house and serve as well. And maybe if he hadn't been like that - and his parents had enough money to send him off to a school - maybe this growing obsession of his towards the Lady of the house wouldn't have come to existence. But it did, and every single day he hated himself for it. There was no use, though. He had become a slave to compulsion.

And succumb he did. Every single day, he could feel himself getting closer to unleashing the little monster inside of him, begging and yearning to come out, no matter how much his rational side tried to repress it. This was not another woman of his. This was his Lady. Lady Ophelia... how sweet she was. The ripest flower off the branch. The only one who had captured his attention for so long. Then again, this object of his affections didn't seem to like him back. She was out there with that scum of the earth-

He could not say that about the Prince of Denmark. No, he should be happy that Lady Ophelia was able to have such a relationship with someone of such high standing. How she had managed it escaped him, but they were happy together. What right did he have to tear that away? There was nothing to motivate him, nothing that he could justify himself with aside for the fact that he was saddled down with all these feelings. These unnecessary feelings that he would be much better off without.

But there was a problem. It was against his nature and pride as a man to just watch her slip away from him, even though he himself would have never been able to bring himself into the equation. Prince Hamlet being added to it, it hurt him more than he was willing to admit. Yet, he had a duty as a servant, a duty he could never break. He was in a bind. He was caught.

And she just went on with her merry little business, not knowing how much pain she was causing him. Of course, the Lady should never worry about their subordinates, but it was up to the point where the pain she was inflicting upon him was just inhuman. Now, he couldn't even tell if she was aware of his feeling and just toying with him, waving her relationship with Prince Hamlet right in his face. Telling him that he couldn't possibly have her in the way he wished.

And still, he pined. Still, he wished. Still, his efforts would always be futile.

But the little things he did, could she have yet caught wind of it? She was always out. She would always admire them. No doubt, she had no idea they were from him, or they would have been discarded in a heartbeat. But his love for her, it was just a little more than a secret. All of the workers, all of them, knew of his infatuation. And not one of them deluded themselves into thinking that the coupling would ever, in a million years, come to be. These damned feelings! If they could disappear, maybe he would actually be able to live his life and quit this job of his.

As long as she was here, he could not do such a thing. If he could be near her, he would not trade it for the world, even if it hurt him that he couldn't be with her in the way that he wanted.

"Reynaldo, you're in the gardens again? Another rose, I assume." The gardener handed him one, white as snow, just like all the others. He only nodded in response. It had only been recently since he started to frequent the gardens. It was almost a perverse attempt to try to get all the love he could from her. And if getting an indirect feeling of that was all he could achieve, then so be it. So long as she continued to cherish these flowers without knowing who was giving them to her.

Even he knew of his affections for the Lady. The gardener, which he had not known for more than three months, could tell already. It was so obvious, and yet Reynaldo found himself taking even bigger risks. He wanted to go back to when they were little kids, when these feelings were nothing but trifles and practically non-existent. They were concerned, of course, they had to be. For him and for their Lady.

He was being stupid. On her bedside table there lay the previous couple of flowers, pure and white as they had been when he had last delivered them. Lady Ophelia had been caring for them.

This time he laid the flower on the table, just so that she wouldn't miss it.

This was all he could do for her.