Proserpina

Shark fell to the ground, the shot having hit him dead in the center of the forehead. But I did not care to look at him, all my attention was on Lucien as he collapsed, the gun falling from his hands as he collapsed onto the floor, ashen-faced.

I tried to rise but it was too much for me; hopelessly, sobbing his name aloud, I crawled to him.

The blood from his wounds was flowing freely now and in a second, my hands as I cradled his poor head, were wet and sticky.

Delirious with sorrow, I crooned,

“Lucien, my love, no, don’t you DARE leave me.’

His eyelids...