Lazare's body froze at the sensation of her lips. He could not move out of love and fear.
Madeleine did not stop midway through; she also knew of the consequences of the act; she had full knowledge of it, but she had decided to do so with her life. Her decision had long been taken, even before this moment.
The field of flowers around them seemed like a fantasy, just like the romantic novels they had read on their journey. She had no experience in such matters, but her body had long stopped acting in tandem with her mind.
She sensed strength leaving her body as she continued to kiss the boy, their lips locked together and unmoving, unwilling to do so. The end of the kiss would signify the conclusion.
Minutes passed until she stopped the kiss, her body falling away to the ground. She was now even weaker than Lazare had ever been. How cruel was fate.
Her body temperature became chilling, the once warm and tender skin of the young girl began to crisp and age, going from the beautiful girl Lazare had once fallen in love with, to a mere corpse.
The lack of blood made it all more creepy and deranged; he held the girl with the bit of strength he had, the sun had already weakened him too much, and the realization had not yet hit his mind. He was in shock at the sudden series of events.
The flowers around him began to wither; the once beautiful red roses turned black and white, their petals falling to the ground and shaping their bodies over the other. It was the most beautiful tragedy of the world; a prank of fate.
"Madeleine…" His voice was like a whisper in the wind, a single word unheard by any, even the girl in his arms.
The tears began to flow; the body of Madeleine was lifeless and heavy, his hands fell so weak and powerful at the same time. Strong enough to kill; weak enough to fall. He felt his life pass in the blink of an eye. His mind had never been so vivid under the sun.
The flowers he had once cherished, becoming the source of his mutual love with the girl, had become the sole witness to his murder. His cursed hands shook relentlessly, unable to be calm. He had never wished for something like this; he could not believe himself so foolish as to believe in fate.
"Madeleine!" The shout was desperate and cruel; his mind understood, though his heart had a hard time making up with death. He wanted to tear his face off, to strangle himself to death, and to inflict on himself the curse of death.
His white hair pooled around the girl's body; her black hair contrasted with the angelic figure of the boy. He embraced her body and listened to her heart, without responding.
It was only after several minutes that the boy stopped and distanced himself from Madeleine. Lazare had not noticed, but the tears had long stopped running on his cheeks. Only their passage remained in sight for no one to see.
There were so many things he regretted. How he had wished to meet her family. How he had wished to introduce her to his father. How he had wished he could have proclaimed his love to her. But he had been too foolish to realize his wishes. It was only when he lost the most precious thing that he realized just how much he loved it.
He knew of the destruction his hand could create; he had himself been witness to the terror of the curse, the horror of death he bore. He had not expected such a thing to happen. Why would she have done this, he asked himself over and over.
In the depths of his mind, he knew the answer more than anyone; he had never thought of this act because of his love, but she was not the same as him.
Lazare did not have much time left to live afterwards. His body grew weaker by each and every day spent under the sun; his skin so pale it could not survive under the mighty sun above.
His blue eyes did not reflect into the eyes of Madeleine; they had never done so, but he had never paid attention to it at first. It is only at this moment that he noticed. How many things did he not know about his love?
Lazare looked down next to her and found an old pocket watch. He had looked at it once or twice before, as she had brought it everywhere with them. He opened the pocket watch and immediately saw the visage of Madeleine, calm and lovely. His eyes did not produce any more tears than he had.
He also looked at the boy next to her; he had heard of him. Madeleine's brother, whom he had never met, apparently did not have a great relationship; he regretted not asking why now.
The two parents next to them were long dead, or so he heard from Madeleine, making her brother the only living family member of the house.
I have to tell him…
This was the first thought in his head. He had no other choice in his heart than to find him. Someone had to know of her demise, no matter what. His heart would not forgive him otherwise.
He dearly wished to end his life on the spot and meet his love in the afterlife, but he knew well enough that an outcome as such wasn't what she wished for when she made the decision to cross with his lips.
Lazare cried one last tear over the body of Madeleine, before finding solace beside her, in the middle of the flower field as the night fell, nobody present beside the one of them.
He looked at his hand, murderous and deadly, and heard it laughing, cruelly and mockingly, chuckling at his poor fate.
Oh, how cruel was Fate.