Her death had been quick as promised, and when it was finally said and done, Lewis felt…nothing.
Lewis wasn’t sure what to expect from it all. The love he felt for her was real. At least, that was what he assumed was love. Lady Angela had not questioned it, nor had she brought attention to his actions and devotion to Simone’s wish. No, she had questioned it, but in a way that had confused Lewis.
”If you follow through, you are going to destroy yourself.” Those words had meant nothing to him at the time. It was what she wanted. It was what he had wanted, but… was that love? Was this what love was? This agonizing hollow feeling? This emptiness that felt like it could swallow the world itself?
He had decided, in the end, that love was pain. That was what it had to be. All of that happiness that he had experienced…that was the precursor to the pain.
“Love is pain,” he muttered to himself as he drank another bottle of cider. When did I get here? he wondered. The tavern around him seemed mostly irrelevant. All that mattered was the apple flavored ale in front of him, and the numbing effects it had on his senses. It even had a faint scent of…
“Orange blossoms…” Was that real, though? Or was that his mind trying to recreate something that would never be? She was gone. Simone was gone. Her quest for peace had been accomplished. He closed his eyes, and felt the room start to spin. How much had he consumed?
“Love…love is,” he tried to say, his speech slurring. He slid off the stool, but was caught by a stranger. At least, Lewis didn’t recognize him.
“Come on… Let’s get you back home.”
The voice was somehow familiar. It was someone from the temple. Who they were, though, felt mostly irrelevant. They weren’t Simone.
“If you need me… You know where to find me.”
Darren. That was his name. They had met before, but for some reason Lewis couldn’t quite place it. It was too hard to think, and suddenly he felt churning in his stomach. He barely made it to the window before emptying the contents of his stomach out of the side of the tower.
There was a faint chirping as Snowball landed on his shoulder, a mixture of sadness and consoling in the bird’s tone.
“I know…but there isn’t anything to do about it other than…other than to move on,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Snowball chirped again, and nuzzled the side of Lewis’ face before flying back to the little bird cage that had become his home.
Lewis walked over to the couch, and flopped down on it. Underneath was another half bottle of some foul liquid that wasn’t ale. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it would do the job just the same. Without a word, he chugged the remainder of the bottle, and passed out.
—
The next morning he rolled off the couch, and groaned as he hit the stone floor. When he opened his eyes, he saw the threading that Simone had been using to embroider. He pulled it out, and a small note fell off what looked like an unfinished project.
“Dear…dear Lewis,” the assassin read aloud. “I hope this letter finds you…”
