Wilheim laid a wreath in Mikhail’s grave in a sombre tone, standing before the earth while he looked down. He had a heavy sense of woe about him, while he thought about Mikhail’s demise with a sigh. In life, Mikhail was a headstrong man, going about his life. He valued his friends, and life. Mikhail was an amazing man to be around and Wilheim felt a profound sense of sadness while he watched the man die on his latest days. As he walked, he would shed a tear with the memories of Mikhail he remembered.
All good memories made Wil’s heart pained while he remembered his old friend, but he wiped away his tears, imagining how Mikhail would not have wanted him to cry, but instead drink with a bunch of friends like the old days.
Even though that is what Mikhail would have wanted, Wilheim still felt a throbbing pain for his now passed comrade, and his mind wandered to the generation of men what were destroyed by the great war, even if they were not pulled through swords.
REST IN PEACE, MIKHAIL. TRULY A MADLAD.