Vega knelt amidst the resplendent scarlet vines and touch-sensitive blue roses of the Willow Garden, her anguish echoing through the serene ambiance.
Despite being ensconced in opulence and unquantifiable wealth, her guilt and depression lingered, an incessant reminder of her past transgressions.
Her gaze fell upon the golden pendants suspended from her neck, their luminance insufficient to assuage the turmoil brewing within.
The tiara, adorned with fiery gems, seemed a hollow adornment, a poignant reminder of her forsaken duties and responsibilities.
Vega's supplications to the Sober Sprite were a heartfelt plea for redemption, a desperate longing for a second chance.
Her raven tresses cascaded down her back like a waterfall of night, as she mouthed words of contrition, her sapphire blue eyes, brimming with unshed tears.
A ravishing beauty in her early thirties, bearing remarkable resemblance to the young Princes of Cedarlake and Aethoria.
"Forgive me," she whispered, her forehead pressed against the verdant grass.
"Even in silence, your memory lingers, crisp and unblemished."
The melodic baritone that interrupted her reverie was unmistakable, a familiar cadence that stirred long-dormant emotions.
Tadmor emerged from the lush willows, his dark locks rustling in the gentle winter breeze.
His imposing physique, honed from years of battle, seemed chiseled from the granite of the mountains.
The Lord of Cedarlake was intriguingly stunning, towering well above six foot-four, baked in the Spring and powerfully built, his air, reminiscent of a horse.
His hazel eyes shimmered arrogantly as he approached Vega, his tan skin glossing fervently, akin to chocolate.
His brawny arms were covered with symmetrical shoulder length tattoos, running down his wrists.
Even in the blistering cold, Tador would neither put on a cloak nor a sweater — for he was immune to frostbite.
His attire, a symphony of sky-blue and indigo, accentuated his rugged beauty, as he moved with the fluidity of a panther.
Steel boots, adorned with intricate etchings, gleamed like polished onyx, a testament to his unyielding power.
"Lord Tempest!" Vega rose, her voice tinged with a mix of trepidation and reverence.
"Please, call me Tadmor," he corrected, his hazel eyes glinting with a hint of amusement.
"Must you address me by my pseudonym, even after all these years?"
Vega's apology was tinged with a hint of nervousness, as she struggled to reconcile her past and present.
Tadmor's query, laced with a subtle venom, cut through the fragile façade of her emotions.
"Why do you mourn, Vega?
Do you forget, there is no peace for the wicked?" his tone was a masterful blend of disdain and triumph.
The flowers blossomed in synchrony with praise to their monarch as he promenaded through the exquisite garden unto his forgotten bride.
Vega's emotions threatened to overwhelm her, as she confronted the specter of her past betrayals.
Her voice trembled, as she began to recount the litany of her transgressions.
"I abandoned my duty, my family, my responsibility as duchess...
I eloped with the Prince of the Ocean, driven by a foolish, all-consuming passion...
I forsook my own son, my precious child... I abandoned my husband, my Duke, the throne..."
Her words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the shattered remnants of her past.
Tadmor's response was an artful blend of indifference and contempt.
"And yet, I never asked you to come along.
Neither did I bewitch you," he said, his voice, a gentle breeze.
Vega's anger flared, a wildfire that threatened to consume her.
"You're still the same cold-hearted monster, aren't you? You never change."
Tadmor's chuckle was a low, menacing rumble, a sound that sent shivers coursing through Vega's veins.
"Do you remember the first words you spoke to me?" he asked, his eyes glinting with a hint of nostalgia.
"Love me till the day we die," Vega whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
The memories came flooding back, a tidal wave of emotions that threatened to engulf her.
Tadmor's gaze seemed to bore into her very soul, as if he could see the deepest, darkest recesses of her heart.
"May I see him?" Vega asked, her voice tinged with a hint of longing.
Tadmor's response was a cringing hybrid of cruelty and indifference.
"You wish to see the son you abandoned?
The child you forsook for your own selfish desires?"
Vega's eyes flashed with anger, as she confronted the cruel reality of her past.
Tadmor's words were a bitter reminder of the choices she had made, the consequences of her actions.
Vega's gaze fell, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"Perhaps, you're right," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"I have no right to see him.
I abandoned him, forsook him for my own selfish desires."
Tadmor's expression remained impassive, his eyes glinting with a hint of triumph.
"I'm glad you finally understand the gravity of your actions," he said, his voice low and menacing.
Vega's shoulders slumped, her body racked with sobs.
She wept for the child she had abandoned, for the life she had forsaken.
She wept for the mistakes she had made, for the pain she had caused.
As she, Tador turned to leave, his footsteps echoing through the garden.
Vega's sobs grew louder, her body shaking with the force of her emotions.
"What kind of a mother runs away from her child?
What kind of a parent abandons her own son... twice?" Tador's tone was laced with pain.
"I did not abandon our son.
I saved his life!"
"From whom? Yourself?"
"From the Duke of Aethoria.
Reggie would never have survived a second in the City of Fragrance.
The Lord of Phantasm was utterly infuriated."
The split couple glared at each other, defiantly; what was once a burning passion had transformed into a bitter loathing.
The subtle winds blew against the willows, fluttering the greens.
Nature, a solemn backdrop for introspection.