Emberlyn
"Who are you?"
The words hit him like a physical blow. Ethan's eyes snapped open to find himself alone in the market square, the concerned Emberlyn of his desperate hallucination nowhere to be seen. The real Emberlyn stood several feet away, staring at him with cold confusion.
"Huh?" The sound escaped him like a wounded animal's whimper.
'Wasn't she just beside me? How did she suddenly end up over there?' His mind reeled, trying to reconcile the vivid embrace he'd felt with the harsh reality before him.
"Who are you?" Emberlyn repeated her question, her expression filled with doubt and growing irritation.
Ethan felt the world tilt beneath his feet. This was Emberlyn—his Emberlyn—the woman who had pressed kisses to his hand, who had marveled at his cooking, who had whispered sweet words against his back just yesterday morning. But she was looking at him like he was a complete stranger.
"What do you mean? Who am I?" His voice was barely a whisper, trembling with disbelief and growing horror.
…
"EMBERLYN! PLEASE! PLEASE BELIEVE ME! I'M YOUR HUSBAND!" Ethan's cry shattered the afternoon air, raw and desperate and utterly heartbroken.
The crowd that had gathered around this spectacle began to murmur among themselves. To them, Ethan was nothing more than a madman, a pathetic figure claiming to be married to the legendary Emberlyn Scarlet. After all, everyone knew she was unmarried—a fierce, independent hunter who had never shown interest in romantic entanglements.
The secret they had kept so carefully to protect their love had become the very thing that destroyed it. With no proof of their marriage, no witnesses to their relationship, Ethan's desperate claims sounded like the ravings of a delusional stranger.
"Shut up! You're nothing but a liar!" someone shouted from the crowd.
"Don't you dare come near Lady Emberlyn again!" another voice added.
The crowd's anger turned physical. Fists flew, boots connected with his ribs, and Ethan found himself at the center of a storm of violence. He curled into a ball, protecting his head as best he could, but made no effort to fight back. What was the point? His world had already ended.
Through the rain of blows, he caught glimpses of Emberlyn watching with detached interest, as if observing a mildly entertaining street performance. The woman who had once kissed his wounds better now watched impassively as strangers inflicted new ones.
When the crowd finally tired of their sport, they left him broken and bleeding on the cobblestones. The market square, which had moments ago been filled with shouts and violence, fell unnaturally quiet.
Heavy clouds had gathered overhead while Ethan wasn't paying attention, and now they opened up in a torrential downpour. Rain fell in sheets, soaking through his torn clothes and washing the blood from his face in pink rivulets.
"Emm... Berr... lyn..." he whispered, his voice lost in the sound of falling water.
