Grey

Love is strong
and simultaneously fragile.
Unbreakable to those inside,
yet glass to the envious eye...

"I still feel her last breath, warm against my neck. How long has it been since then? Since both of our flames were extinguished forever? My name, her name... I remember very little beyond the warmth of her against me. In the screams and chaos, somehow I had found her. Something primal pulled me to the thing I loved most, something more ancient than any god.

With her last breath came peace, with mine came a sickness. The torments follow even in death. My clock stands still as I do: statuesque and stationary. Odd to the casual passerby, but not interesting enough for a second glance. I am nothing but a husk of my former self, colorless and equally as alive. The purpose of my torment I do not know, and why the only happiness I cherish vanishes slowly from my mind is but a guess... I am unable to cry out when I cannot recall her name, unable to close my eyes and reminisce in darkness. I only wish to think of her, but more and more I remember the screams. There is no peace for me, but as long as she has hers, I will not fight it.

She... the one..." A tear streamed down the statue's grey fur, slowed by the heavy layers of dust accumulated from years of neglect. He teetered precariously on the brink of sanity, staring numbly into the darkest portions of his mind. The small ember that was she, the only light left in his empty soul, slipped away: gone for eternity. The red light emanating from his exposed skull brightened briefly before going out.

The shopkeeper's bell jingled in the distance and he came shuffling into view moments later. His old frame struggled under the load as he placed something onto the ground directly across. She was grey with stained fur just like him, one red eye staring blankly forward, and a price tag dangling from her ear.
"Some guy just brought this gal in and I couldn't resist. I doubt I'll ever sell you two, but it seemed like you could use some company." The shopkeeper turned to pat him on the head, "Oh my, it seems someone has spilled something on your nose."
He pulled out a kerchief and wiped the tear from his fur. "Ship shape old friend, ship shape."