He begins to lift his right hand. He is standing close behind her – close enough for her back to brush the front of his body. Close enough to smell the delectable sweetness of her fragrance, to touch her. But he is suddenly hesitant.

His hands, which had hesitated before, slide up to her covered elbows. He takes the first step, and bends his head forward.

She releases a disjointed breath at the feel of the tip of his aristocratic nose following the graceful curve between her neck and left shoulder. He nuzzles her, inhaling her scent deeply, but the innocence of the touch is enough to elicit tiny tingles regardless.

He felt her slipping away from him.

A chill breeze pushed back his dark brown hair and blew some dust into his eyes.

Her silky hair swam down her back like silver waves. Each lock was individually illuminated by the sun's golden rays. Yearning for the touch of even one single strand, aching solely for the privilege of caressing each string of hair, the beams stretched across the vast universe.

He was in some other place.

The spirit had her arm wrapped in what looked like the roots of a tree curling around her like a playful snake. Her hair was wild and as brown as earth, with small horns either side of her head that reminded him of a juvenile deer horns. Her eyes were green a beautiful green.

She looked just like her.

He was whisked yet into another realm.

This morning she was carrying a small tissue wrapped bunch of pink roses and one of small white chrysanthemums. The stems were wet and she felt the dampness seeping through her skin. The flowers were tight-budded, but one was beginning to open and a transitory evocation of summer came to her.

He tried to touch her. Who wouldn’t want to touch something so pure?

Before he could do any of that, she disintegrated into ashes. The tissue dropped to the ground with a soft thud, sending its contents sprawling all over.

Within seconds, the flowers had lost their colour.

Except for one.

JongIn held the flower in her fingertips so that it did not touch his scuffed palms. How was it that in all this chaos this delicate bloom should survive?

 It's stem was the hue of spring grass and it's brilliant purple petals so thin that even the air, made dim by the plumes of debris and smoke, could shine through them; bestowing an unearthly glow. The smile that had played at the corners of his cracked lips faded.

This flower, while reaching for the sun was a living corpse, it was alive and dead. Without it's roots it's vibrancy would fade sooner than the daylight.

He was rootless, like the bloom, cut off from support and supplies. 

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Surprise! An update. I was supposed to be studying but I got distracted once an inspiration struck me. Still I hope you enjoy?

I had no idea what tye of concept I was going for. I apologise if it is not up to your liking.