Her legs shook as she plastered a fake smile to the people walking by her, congratulating her for her work.
An interminable gallery with slender arches with Italian ornaments ran all around the walls bringing the mind into early Renaissance Italy.
At one part, her portraits hung like a book opened and splashes of her pictures stood out.
Eyes of carnal fever, mouths of raving desire, inks of stories and lastly, red primal man lied subterraneously under all of them.
People scattering around, murmuring while looking at the images.
No knew who was the intriguing man. No one knew what he had gone through. No one knew what had happened to the mysterious man.
No one.
They all moved around in herds, going from one snapshot to another. Black white were his inks, shadows with the silhouette of the undersides of his sharp jaw, pop of red for his lips, and his eyes with brown highlighted.
The man they know as Rider.
The man she loved as Rider.
Her fists held the now crumbled paper, stained with dots of blood.
Her eyes were glassy as she watched her surroundings. His last letter clutched in her hands, still unable to think about what had happened.
Gone.
He was gone.
When the loud boom in the quietness of the estate shook the building, she felt it in her bones of something she couldn't admit to herself.
Digging her nails into her palms, she runs to his office.
Opening the door, her breath was stolen.
A deep wrenching bleeding hole on his head, brain spilled out on the plush carpet and rivers of blood leaking out.
Lorenzo had coming running behind her, and his gasp woke her.
He pushes by her and he startles as his hands moving to touch him, lying him on his lap.
Richard's eyes were gone. His face was nearly pulled off and blood and blood drenched over, the flesh gleaming with terrorizing fever, covering that beautiful face. Destroying his once perfect face.
She couldn't hear Lorenzo's voice. He was shouting and crying at the body.
Why did you do this?
She walks to the lying man, who remained motionless. His white shirt soaked with rivulet of red. His body sprawled and twisted like he was sleeping drunk.
Lorenzo ran out, calling for help.
She still didn't hear because all her ears were picking up was no breath. Richard's breath can't be heard. Why can't she hear it?
Her eyes moved to the table, a paper with scratches of blood on its side.
She picked it up, reading the words in his slanting handwriting. Black ink scrawled with finesse but the zig-zag connected the mentality of his.
Dawn,
As the sun peeks out, you have uncovered my darkness from me.
You are mine, forever.
Go to your exhibition.
I will ride to you, my voluptuous love.
I will come to you.
YOU ARE READING
Voluptuously Yours,
Romance"Let me go." Dawn's voice measured and stoned. The hand tightened further around her arm, making her almost whimper. "What you saw isn't what you think." The gravel stone voice washed over her. She felt the need to throw up. "What I saw was enough...
