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Anika was gone.
Not fully gone of course, she'd never leave the city but gone nonetheless. Gone from his side, from his view, from his life. She was also taunting him with it, at least it felt that way. The ever present ache within him told him so.
A shadow in an alley, a glimpse of dark hair shimmering like onyx, the faintest whiff of her scent. He could always find these things like a bloodhound looking for its prey, almost like his body, his very soul, was attuned to her, to find her anywhere or maybe just find her ghost. A mirage of her in everything.
It felt like she was taunting him by staying so close but so infinitely far away. He wanted to scream, tear his hair by this unfair treatment. He should curse her, he should despise her for leaving him like this, strung out thin and kneeling. But he couldn't find it in himself.
He should despise her but the truth of the matter was he didn't mind. He'll go on his knees and worship anyway. What else was he supposed to do, forget the love his heart ached for desperately, has been aching for over ten, painful long years.
Sometimes he thought she had to know just how far he'd go– he'd do things an average man would shudder to even think about without a moment's hesitation. Anything at all; he'd bring her on a silver platter for even the faintest touch or look into his direction. It felt painfully obvious to him, she must have noticed ages ago and now she’s using it against him.
He always knew he was a sinner, that his life was drenched in blood. He didn't know love would be the sin that would tear him apart one day.
Strato wanted her, plain and simple. Usually, what he wanted was what he got. A flick of the wrist, a well placed word and it would be his, from money to even women, but She, he never could afford to lose her.
She was gone now.
Eleven long years and she was gone just like that.
She'll be back. He was certain of it.
She has to come back.