She is watching him as one watches a god, turning her muddy eyes skyward to engulf the entirety of him, pressing her paw pads tenderly against the curvatures of his cheeks. She captures all of it as she speaks, from the intense emotion in his eyes to the tension in his frame, and a tranquil smile fleetingly seizes her lips.
It dissipates at the moment of her confession, at the moment that he queries who it is. Abruptly, she is ashamed, shaking, sad; somehow, she brought forth the thought that he knew, but simply didn't repirocate her feelings. With a blink of dampening brown eyes she whisks away, parting from his side, from the kind smile and awe-inspiring physiognomy. With false joy she cavorts a few steps away, but her act is effaced as she pirouettes, turning her bony shoulders to him.
"Forget I said anything. It was a f-foolish thought at best, so I plead of you to erase it from your memory."
Her carefully cheerful tone falters and fails, haltingly hiccuping and the maiden silently berates herself. Why had she fallen, and in such a self-destructive manner? She was just a silly fool, deceiving herself into believing that he'd return her sentiment after such a long separation. . . Where had she come up with the idea that he'd actually consider her more than the imbecile he'd found amusing, anyway? A slur of incoherent, stuttering profanity escape from trembling lips, and tears begin to trickle pathetically down her sunken cheeks.
"You must think me brain dead, to prance up and form idiotic assumptions. I'm such an imbecile. . . Why, why you, why now?"
Euphrosyne is weeping. Her gaunt frame dances sorrowfully with each racking sob, thin and feathery brown fur shivering, an unattractice face twisted in amused pain.
"I confess. I l-like you. I love you. I adore, revere, admire you. Isn't that pathetic? But, it's okay. I know you don't love me back. . . You probably have some beautiful female who is smart and kind, and isn't useless and selfish."
The confession does not halt her cries. In fact, she begins to sob harder, shaking so violently that she had to lay. She cannot look at him, cannot gaze upon that face, a face most likely disgusted by her worthless state. Euphie could feel it, feel her heart about to explode in her chest, about to burst with longing and pain.
With a low groan of defeat, she curls into a fetal position, resting her muzzle against her chest. Very quietly, as if anything beyond a butterfly kiss would break her, she murmurs,
"Don't worry about me. I have fulfilled my purpose. . . I will lay here and pine away until death, and you can continue on with your life without me as a stupid, emotional obstacle. Goodbye, Rio."
She lapses into morose silence, the tears soundlessly falling, her pained heart forcing each breath to become more shallow, less frequent. It would be better this way. . . She wouldn't feel any more pain, no more unrequited love, and Rio could live happily ever after.
Euphrosyne, who only minutes earlier had frolicked and lay blissfully beside the crimson male, now curled into a pitiful ball and awaited patiently for death.