He watched her, gasping in his final throes, blood pouring from his slashed neck onto his shirt. He watched her as he had always watched her, with wonder and fear and with what answered in his character for love. Fascination still ruled him. His eyes traveled her curves as his hands had, wondering what she was doing at the sink. Had he still a voice, he might have mocked her tears. The sentiment was there in his eyes: “Why weep over what you’ve done? Why do it if you’ll weep?” With a gurgle of a laugh, darkness flooded his vision.
His Perspective
Tale Told 