Scaramouche stood frozen, his arms wrapped tightly around your lifeless body. His tears, crimson like the blood that stained his hands, fell onto your cold cheeks. The world felt like it had stopped—time had lost all meaning. You were gone, and Scaramouche’s heart shattered with every second that passed.

He had known pain before—betrayal, loss, and anger—but nothing compared to this. This was agony, a grief so raw it tore through him, ripping apart the carefully constructed walls around his heart. You, the one person who had seen past his cold exterior, the one who had made him feel alive, were gone.

"I don't care what she wants!" Scaramouche roared, his voice echoing through the ancient hall as he glared at the queen. "I don't want her dead. She saved you, you need to save her."

The queen’s eyes were filled with sorrow as she shook her head. "It is kinder to let her die a human than to sacrifice her soul for immortality."

Those words only fueled Scaramouche's desperation. He held you tighter, standing up with renewed determination. "I'm going to fix this," he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he began marching toward the arch of stones, his resolve unshakable.

The queen called after him, her voice cracking with alarm. "Scaramouche, those stones can only be used once. Time will demand something of equal value if you use them."

Scaramouche’s eyes, normally so guarded, now blazed with fury and desperation. "There is nothing of equal value to me," he hissed, kneeling before the arch as he began wrenching the stones free, one by one. Each stone glowed faintly in his hands, ancient magic pulsing with the promise of changing fate.

He wasn’t going to let you go. Not like this. Not ever. Even if it meant going back and rewriting the very threads of time. Even if it meant sacrificing everything.

He would save you.

Scaramouche’s heart raced as he glanced down at your still form, his lips trembling.

"Wait for me," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I’ll make this right."