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When one flirted with Death, Death takes them slowly. It's ugly, but the only end for those so lost as to find pity in those so pitiable.
He caresses the head of his armor thoughtfully, eyeing the corpse of his previous companion. Rogier suffered from too big a heart, too willing and open. Despite all his strength the seduction of death led to his ruin. Seeing his corpse... D can only mourn the man he considered an equal once. Maybe even more, had he not betrayed him. Betrayed them. His pure spirit sullied and his body ruined, the flies feasting on his now bloating corpse. His body slumped on the balcony, tucked away to be forgotten.
D knew Rogier had been troubled despite the jovial persona he put on. Often murmuring and tossing in fitful sleep, something he was probably unaware of. D was barely able to look upon his sad form now, face peaceful, pallid in his new slumber. He had been unable to face him when he came to the Roundtable, already on the very precipice of death. The wretched thorns ravaging from the inside out, ruining his once fit and handsome form. Sullied beyond repair. Oh, dear Rogier! If only he could've been saved by the light of the Order. Clear mind spared the temptation. Alas, the minds of man and young in the end. Wills weakened by curiosity and compassion. A rose with thorns, reduce to mere brambles rotting.
He'll never be able to appreciate the calming presence of the Sorcerer at his side. Easy smile lighting his face, comforting hand on his armored shoulder. Lips cold and tinted blue, once warm against his own. Regardless, D will strive to do good by the will of the Golden Order, fools and corpses in his wake.
What is love if not the greatest, sweetest of tragedies?