Thread: The Tempest. (Closed RP. Sometime in Jan. 2010)

Nathaniel stumbled through the darkness to the haven where his beautiful treasure use to spend her every night and once again... no Miranda. Falling to his knees he let out a keening wail that scared every rat and living thing for a quarter mile in all directions.

Blood tears run rivers down the flaking burned flesh of a thing that was once a man, his agonizing sobs are apologizes and pleadings to someone who clearly is no where nearby to hear. "Come back to me... don't leave me..."

Blind with his Beast's desperation he does sits down at her beautiful hand carved writing desk and scratches a note to her with an elegant feathered quill pen, the ink... his own blood. The words a variation from one of the many plays he'd read to her while she slept her long sleep.

"You'll be my wife, dearest, and I'll serve you forever."
And she asked me, "Will you be my husband then?"
And I replied, "Yes, with a heart more eager to bear a husband’s responsibilities than a slave ever wanted freedom. Take my hand, darling."
He longs to hear her reply, even if she can not be here tonight or a hundred nights from now... he will hang by the hope of the angels in heaven and the stars in the sky that there will be a night he is worth of hearing her say, "Here’s my hand, and my heart." He has but to hear word to know he can bear our distance, no matter how long.

With that Calhoun walked the long, lonely distance back to his haven and closed the tomb-like door with a resounding BOOM that echoed through the cavernous tunnels of the city, and his dead heart.