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He is tormented by nightmares, many nightmares without end, as he embraces his body one last time before the bright beam that warms his heart begins to fill his mind with nothing but hatred for him.
Aesop, was it really meant to happen.?
All of them, all of them gone, only him, the seer, on the damp floor by the stove in the drowning darkness of the night, looking for a replacement for that weightless feeling. Robe on his body and the pathetic cloak covering the beautiful locks of hair that seemed only recently to lie on the sheets and feel the native curves of the embalmer's hand in them.
I would have given anything to be with him - my life.
Now like a fool lying on the floor in agony, scarlet blood flowed in his slashed wrists and beside them yellow rosebuds, the flowers that his love so adored; they would turn red with every speck of blood and tears.
- "I must love you, love you, love you even if this wound hurts like two, even if I look for you and do not find you, and even if night passes and I do not have you."
His death was watched only by the moon and such a quiet last night.