Fall.
The dying woes of summer's breath, a gasp through the trees. A draft, melancholy, sweet, her final breaths.
And in her place, he stood. Regret droning in every beat of his heart, in every leaf that drifted to the ground, forgotten as the bodies that lay, undisturbed, untouched, in the field that he now plays. A dance, sweeping a dank and musty scent into the sky. The gold of his hair, radiance dimming with every passing moment. And to his knees he fell.
Gold tarnished.
Disease, creeping along each hair. The magic died away, replaced by dull. Broken and split, bare like the twigs that were left of last spring's blooms. Forgotten, and perhaps better that way. Insignificant, easily overlooked. Shadowed by Summer's kindness, Winter's beauty, Spring's humour. They'd take a brief look at him, but that was it. It was easy to be invisible.
"Isn't she just wonderful?" Crowing praise, baleful, gushing with adoration. "Oh, and have you seen one so handsome?" The drake would flash his winning smile, and any sense of self-dignity would be lost. "I don't think I've laughed so hard in my life." A tear wiped away from a pair of humoured eyes.
And then they'd turn to him.
"What do you do, Fall? Surely, you keep your worth one way or another?"
He'd look up and smile.
"I am the contrast that makes them beautiful."
A smile that never quite reached his eyes.