Sleepy Fox Hollow Where I thought I knew it all before I knew what love was

parched, chastised, downtrodden — mahler surveyed the remains of his dwindling kingdom.
not a kingdom. he was not a king, not a regent, not a ruler, only a man who was weary beneath the armor he had never truly wanted to wear.
unambitious and content to be so, mahler had donned it all the same out of duty and love for stigmata. he suspected his silver brother would have done the same for him.
but the gargoyle was exhausted, jaded, and still recovering. furthermore, his lover had moved unexpectedly close, and he surveyed the beckoning season as a way of great strife rather than meekly seeding the entirety of the teekon.
mahler meandered.
a scent struck him harshly; he stood fast, pondering it. it was a saltpepper fragrance drifting from feminine hackles oh — oh. 
the man's heart began to thud; he plodded muzzle down in that direction, scarcely breathing. and soon the vision began to fill his lavender gaze; he rapidly blinked and drew up with a sharp chuff. 
"but —" and that was all mahler managed before his jaw wired shut with the shock of seeing the one person who had plagued him in life as marigold had after death.