Theme: the folly of loss
Tagline: The sentiment of losing someone, or even something, can cause the kind of torment that’s hard to surpass. And everyone deals with tragedy in their own way, even those from the paranormal side.
He left her, in silence, in the midst of a deadening night; a dark and cold night that only her heart could feel. Yet there was thunder and lightning that covered the sound of her devastating pain and loud cries. She sat in the chair that faced a print art by the famous painter, Toulouse Lautrec — which he always professed as his first existential love at first sight. And she felt more sadness and ache crushing her poor little heart. That night, her tears were unstoppable.
…
“Why he covers their eyes?” He once asked her, fascinated by that painted silhouette. “Strange, who will ever know what’s germinating inside of a restless mind, same as you… same as when you brought me back to life on that night.”
She had no answer for him. She couldn’t even remember what was the catalyst to her own folly, all that she remembered about that night, was only the feeling of need to cut through her pain of loss. She sat there, in silence, with the rain pouring hard. The spell was not for him, not for that stranger that came back from the dead, but the spell was to bring back the one she dearly loved, and still did.
What went wrong. Where was her heart back then. Could heartbreaks lead to a folly of that extent. These were all the questions that kept her awake in the middle of these sleepless nights, where still, no answers whispered back to her.
“He seems good where he is, he didn’t even heard your call, but I did, and I am here… why are you crying, because he didn’t come back for you? He is good where he is, much better than around, and when we find better, we never want to go back to what’s downgraded… so dry your tears now, for he is good where he is.” Since that day all of her was ruined. It was an evil thing that took possession of that dead body — his body, the now empty vessel of the one that cared for her. A silly and unconscious action that she utterly regretted.
“Only servants bring back what’s lost. Thus, you are my servant from now on, and you will do whatever I’ll say. I am your master, and you will always address me as such. Before, I was a powerful imperator, before being beheaded by a horde of my own people… after all that I did for them… all, ungrateful.” But what she wanted to tell him that day, was that he really was a tyrant, a heartless tyrant, a spectre that sprouted from the realm of nightmares.
She had served him, staying quiet all along, pitying her own self for shaping her own tragedy. Then, it happened, his body started to decompose. His skin peeled off like leaflets, his hair fell down, even his bones became flask. “What are you waiting, prepare the spell for my rejuvenation.”
“Yes, master, I am working on it.” She bandaged his whole body like a mummy, and patiently waited. He, became weaker and weaker, where he couldn’t even emit any sound, imprisoned into thick cloth from head to toe — she, became stronger and stronger, where she could feel life again, freed from her own spell.
