It was late in the night, the moon fully shining, filtering through the treetops and into the windows of the tree house. It was enchanting in another way than during the daylight, almost surreal, otherworldly, fantastical. It was hard to describe such a wonder as this, but as nothing more than breathtaking and awe-inspiring beauty. A soft singing could be heard faintly in the distance, captivating and sorrowful, a voice alone and sounding almost...longing in a way. The language was unique, almost Elvish, but in a different dialect so that even Prometheus had a hard time understand what was being sung. He recognized it slightly though, it was Woodland, but other than that...well, he just enjoyed listening to the bewitching lyrics.<br/><br/>He'd been wandering through the house, stopping here and there to gaze at the walls, where pictures were hung, into rooms, to just check on things, sometimes even going into them. Every room he stopped in made him long even more for his friend to wake up so that he was not so lonely anymore. Yes, he had to admit that Emory was there with him, that he truly wasn't<span style="font-style: italic">alone</span>...physically. But mentally, he felt so very, very lonely...and it wasn't a good feeling for him to have.<br/><br/>Eventually, after turning back from the way he'd gone, retracing his steps, he reaches the room that they'd first found Wednesday asleep in. Cautiously he steps inside, gazing slowly right, and then left. The moonlight filtered in rays through the window, sparkling dust shimmering in the light that was give. He comes to a stop in the middle of the room when he steps on something, a picture frame. He kneels down, carefully picking up the frame, which was made out of four sticks joined at the ends with twine, and decorated with leaves, flowers, shells, feathers, a tuft of fur, and a few precious stones. And in the center, held in place, was a drawn picture of Wednesday, Prometheus, and three others, each looking unique in their own ways. They all had their expressions depicted perfectly, even the way Prometheus had been drawn was perfect. Then, when it had been done, he'd not been as close to the group, standing slightly to the side, arms crossed over his chest, staring over at the others. Did Wednesday draw this?<br/>When...?<br/><br/>He didn't even notice as a few droplets of water falls onto the cracked glass-like frame, dripping from his face as the picture becomes more and more blurred. More and more, the water fell from his face, Prometheus didn't even realize that he was crying, his heart was too busy shattering with the overwhelming weight and pain that shook with every single beat that it took. Why did things have to turn out the way they did? Why did they all have to get in that war in the first place? If only he and his companions had been fast enough, then maybe...maybe the war never would have started in the first place. Then, maybe he could have saved them, instead of having to suffer watching them fall, one by one, dying, gasping for life, bleeding, crying out. Save me. Save me, please. Prometheus, friend, brother, son.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Why...why...why...? Why did this happen to you? What went wrong? I couldn't protect you. I promised, all of you I'd protect you. But I couldn't! There was nothing I could do! Are you there? Can you hear me? Can you answer? Will you? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."</span>He voice was breaking, as was weeping openly now, holding the picture to his chest over heart as he mourned the loss of all his friends, all his family, all of them. Head bowed, pain evident on his face as he clutched at the frame.<span style="font-style: italic">"Forgive me! Please! Ecthelion, Aeolius, Thantos, Mother, Father, Hephaestus...I'm sorry..."</span><br/><br/>He didn't know what to do, what to think. All the guilt he felt had just come down like a hammer striking molten metal, all at once. Had he been stronger, had he been just a bit faster, then maybe, just maybe, they'd all still be alive. And he wouldn't be alone anymore. He'd still have his friends, he'd still have a family. But now...now he had none of that. He didn't know when Wednesday would wake up, that was if he ever woke at all. He didn't know what to do, where to start. He had only put on a brave face so as not to appear weak in front of a human. But here, kneeling among the leaves, dust, and debris...he felt so weak.