A solitary figure walked through a deserted, cold park. It was still very early, so the silver-haired man was neither surprised nor bothered by the lack of accidental company. In fact, he only ever ventured out of his office or flat if he knew that there weren't many people around. It was a strange quirk of his, shying away from company as if it burned him.

Taking a seat on a snow covered bench, he slowly exhaled and watched the cloud of mist that his breath had become in the frosty temperatures. The past five weeks had been somewhat difficult, although he had no idea why. He got up in the morning, showered, had some breakfast, took a walk, went to the office long before most of his colleagues were even up, stayed longer than some of them were awake, returned home, had dinner, listened to precisely three pieces of classical music and went to bed. These were his days. This was what made him happy. But then the restlessness came and with it the nightmares. He hadn't been able to remember a single one of them once he woke up sweating (screaming crying feeling), but something lingered nevertheless.

He even considered going to a shrink, but he shied away from baring his soul to a stranger, even if it was a paid professional. By choice, he had no friends to confide in. By destiny, he had no family to lean on to. Not that he ever minded. There would be the occasional pretty blonde in his bed, but never in his heart. Not anymore. He was not searching, he was just existing.

The snow started to fall again, and he took in the beauty of his surroundings. Branches bending under the white weight, absolute quiet as even the sounds of the few animals were absorbed by the icy blankets that nature had provided. He was a humble man, he didn't wish for much. He didn't deserve anything. His head snapped up. Where did this thought come from, he wondered, an icy hand gripping his heart and slowly sinking its claws in.

Little flakes tumbled around his face, not making contact with his skin. He tried to calm himself, to distract himself by going over the plans he had lying in his office, of buildings, strategies, business meetings. And then just before he succeeded in calming the gnawing suspicion in his gut, finally, one solitary snowflake brushed his cheek, softer than a lover's caress, but horribly, horribly familiar.

The sky was grey, the world was grey, his heart was black. He was lying on the blood-covered floor of the eternal palace, his hand stretched out to reach his sword. An explosion somewhere nearby sent ashes falling from the sky like snowflakes. Whether these burnt remnants used to be a building, a person, or a weapon, he neither knew nor know cared for. One touched his cheek, and with the blood seeping out of his body, the curse cast on his soul lifted. He knew he was dying. He hoped that she would be the last thing his eyes would behold, but as darkness advanced on him, he felt that she was no more.

Kunzite opened his eyes.