His and Hers

It's when Bruno finally returns into this shitty, horrible hideout that the man finds himself delving in the only thing that matters at this point— the only way he can keep his sanity through all of the occult forces dripping from his body.

Artificing. It was the only way.

The last letter she gave him is held tightly, eventually folding it over and over into a small, tiny piece of paper.

Red lightning explodes outwards, desecrating the walls, the carpet, setting it on fire as the man pulls at his own ring, melting a socket into it - a hollow compartment for the letter to be slipped into. The arcanium finds itself drawn back after the letter is treasured.

No.. No it wasn't enough. Anastasia was dead.

How could he go on like that? The ceiling began shaking as a tremendous vile darkness exploded forth, burning away at the very fabric of Anastasia's ring, forcing it to expand— to match Bruno's own.

Attached. Fused. The rings would double up, allowing for the small gemstone which trapped the northern lights within to dance together once more, to be near one another. It was... It was only right.

It had to be.

The man had lost everything.

A screeching sound was brought to his mind as he reached his right hand against his forehead. He wanted to... To never forget. To have no one ever forget what happened to him, to them, to his wife. From the strands of occult that penetrated his very spirit was a memory taken ahold of.

Ripped away violently, yet kept near him.

The silvery essence of Anastasia's death, of Bruno being forced to kill her was pushed, shoved into those gemstones. Half of the dance within her ring, the other half within his. Together, this memory would remain... complete.

No one.
No one would ever forget their story.
(Bruno pyr Aertas)