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if any of the statues on gabriel's property could speak, they'd hiss the same word: coward.
he knows. all the cuddles, the "don't worry"s, the "i love you"s, cease to hold meaning when one lover kills the other.
but... this way, they can't leave. this way, they will be with him forever, adorning his mansion's interior, dazzling in the light filtering through sheer white curtains. all it takes is a kiss, a touch, and they're his.
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it doesn't hurt. turning into gold is a warm, gentle numbing like falling asleep, he's heard. it only takes a few seconds.
"smile," he often urges in those last moments, cupping a tender hand to their cheek.
when they oblige, he reciprocates, but not without a guilty pang to the heart. their smile doesn't fade, but the life behind it does, and so does a little of his own.
how many more statues until he, too, loses his humanity?
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