His hand quivered. He stares at the motionless body, propped up against the pillar, the quiet wind carrying her soul across her home. The neon lights quivered at 3.00am all across the River Stretch.

The smell of cherries wafted nearby. Midas knew that He was here, nodding in approval and walking away into the urban grey where he dwells mysteriously, silently without identity.

A Necromancer, A Recruitment of Death

She knew it was her time and her cold body laid there, silent. No one to hold her last warmth of her existing soul on this plane. She drifts away into the night to meet her fates. Lightning reflects from her glazed eyes, a tear drips. A drip of blood stains her cold marble skin.

Midas walks away, shuffling his feet, fumbling with a cigarette in his mouth. His return home will not be without guilt or regret, he knows that. Then again, its all part and parcel in being a Necromancer.

A Necromancer, A Recruitment of Death

He returns to his dark, lonely alcove of an apartment he calls home. Midas absolutes, the water cleansing the surface of his own skin. However, the cold water isn't enough to pierce through the sin he has done tonight. It isn't enough... to bring warmth back to his heart and soul.

He slinks into bed and closes his eyes. Midas wants to wake up. Tonight's murder was a dream, her death was a dream. It was all a horrible nightmare that terrorized his night... right?

It wasn't... The smell of cherries still linger in the air.