I never knew it would be my last day on Earth. At least as the man I
had been then. Rose couldn't finish her champaigne, she left it on the
table
above the plate with the discarded bits of bone and fat from the meal we
had
just shared. I stared at her glass, at the smudges of lipstick clinging
to its
rim, and I cried. Her candle had been blown out in her haste to leave, a
symbol
of preceding events more perfect than I ever could have purposefully
crafted.
Even then I knew it, but I was too distraught to reflect much upon it.
As I watched the waning moon slink nervously behind the black dancing
clouds of early night, I felt a pain in my chest. At first I thought it
was a
heart attack. I just barely had time to feel the red sticky warmth
flowing
through my fingers before I fell to the ground and the sky went forever
dark.
Ginger Rose.... Even now I don't know if it were her that betrayed me,
or if she too were an unwitting pawn in the chevaulier's game.
Damn the chevaulier and his ilk, they are naught but the incarnation of
malice.
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