XXXXIII. Dying

Damn! He cursed in his mind, weeping blood from his empty socket, his eye falling to the floor as his body crumpled up, landing upon the ground as he knelt, hands wrapped around the poker.

It wasn't supposed to go like this! Certainly, he had a knowledge of death…but it was purely academic. He'd never even contemplated his own mortality, not ever. And now, he had a poker through his chest, and his glass eye was staring up at him, and he felt the strange sensation of looking at himself as he died.

He'd planned it out so perfectly, and when the situation had changed, so had his plans. That woman shouldn't've been able to hurt him…it wasn't playing by the rules! It wasn't as if he'd intended to hurt -her-, quite the opposite. Oh, certainly, if he had to, he'd've killed her, he was an Assassin, after all, but really, he'd gone out of his way to make sure she stayed out of his. The elegance, the speech calculated to make her see him as the handsome villain…why didn't it work?

He was out of his body. Death had called his name. "You got it right," he said, astonished.

"OF COURSE."