A small break in the relentless drizzle allowed a spear of sunlight through, splintering on the rain-lashed carriage window. If it hadn't been for that brief scintillation rousing him from his melancholy, he would have missed her. Emily was, like him, alone and preoccupied. And as beautiful as she had always been.
He watched as the locomotive started to move, taking her away from him again. He couldn't follow; the cold stone of the platform anchored his spirit, and she was unable to perceive him in any case.
The clouds of steam billowed, more substantial than he would ever be.
