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Description
He stumbles down the corridor of the chateau. It is dim with age and neglect, the intricate paintings on the wall and beautiful golden carvings are partially obscured by a thick film of dust. The place is dilapidated and cobwebs hand from the chandeliers. His father's massive plate armor is strewn about the floor, it's intricately-carved face glinting weakly in the dim light.

He emerges into a dingy ballroom, formerly the scene of many a drunken revel, orgy, or masked ball. He stops dead in his tracks when he notices two figures standing at the center. One is a large, husky man dressed in the finery of the ancien regime. His features are contorted with cruel pleasure and he holds a slight figure to his chest. The other figure is a girl, not much older than fourteen or fifteen. She is quite small, with long, flowing brown hair now quite ruffled, indicating it had been done up not long before. The large man holds a knife to her throat and she fixes Armand with a look of sheer desperation and terror.

The large man speaks. "You're too late, Armand; she is forfeit! Father will not let her get away with this much longer!"

Armand tries to retort, but nothing will come to his lips.

The large man laughs and draws his knife across the girl's delicate neck. An exquisite spurt of blood splatters the pure white of her dress and she goes down. Armand lunges at the large man, drawing his own daggers. The large man, however, dodges to the side.

"Do not think that shall work a second time!" the large man laughs, "I've learned much in the bowels of oblivion!"

Armand comes at him again, but again he is rebuffed. This continues for some time, the large man laughing the whole time with a certain savage glee quite similar to Armand himself in the bowels of his alcoholic depression. At last, he springs at the mighty man, bringing his daggers to his neck. The large man's head goes flying. A fountain of blood spurts out of the stump as the body goes down, spraying Armand's lips.

He tastes.

"It tastes good, no?" asks the large man's voice in Armand's head. "'Tis the best wine, revenge...."

He shakes this taunt from beyond the grave off and he rushes to the dying girl's side. He scoops her up and holds her close. She looks up at him with piteous eyes. Her mouth opens and a small rill of blood courses from the corner of her exquisite lips.

"Armand..." she says, "Why have you forgotten? 'Tis so cold, down in the grave....so cold....yet you are not there to warm me."

"B-but..." Armand stammers, "'Tis not like that....you're gone now; so long gone, my kind...."

"I never understood your kind, monster!" she retorts, "At least I could take solace in your memory....alas, I've been cast aside, replaced. I thought I meant more to you than that."

"I....Ivonne....I...." he chokes out, tears welling in his eyes.

She places a finger on his lips.

"Nothing shall change this now....die alone and in shame....you thoughtless creature...."

She lets out a final sigh and expires. The severed head erupts into laughter. A brick flies through the window and the sounds of a large crowd can be heard outside. Torches blaze in the windows and war-drums beat. The crowd takes up a hideous chant and a cannon is heard. The room explodes in a shower of heat, flame, and death.

* * *

He awakes in his chambers, his clothes soaked in sweat. He shakes, disturbed by the dream and fumbles for a bottle of wine on his nightstand.

Armand: "Merde...." it's gone.

Description
He stumbles down the corridor of the chateau. It is dim with age and neglect, the intricate paintings on the wall and beautiful golden carvings are partially obscured by a thick film of dust. The place is dilapidated and cobwebs hand from the chandeliers. His father's massive plate armor is strewn about the floor, it's intricately-carved face glinting weakly in the dim light.

He emerges into a dingy ballroom, formerly the scene of many a drunken revel, orgy, or masked ball. He stops dead in his tracks when he notices two figures standing at the center. One is a large, husky man dressed in the finery of the ancien regime. His features are contorted with cruel pleasure and he holds a slight figure to his chest. The other figure is a girl, not much older than fourteen or fifteen. She is quite small, with long, flowing brown hair now quite ruffled, indicating it had been done up not long before. The large man holds a knife to her throat and she fixes Armand with a look of sheer desperation and terror.

The large man speaks. "You're too late, Armand; she is forfeit! Father will not let her get away with this much longer!"

Armand tries to retort, but nothing will come to his lips.

The large man laughs and draws his knife across the girl's delicate neck. An exquisite spurt of blood splatters the pure white of her dress and she goes down. Armand lunges at the large man, drawing his own daggers. The large man, however, dodges to the side.

"Do not think that shall work a second time!" the large man laughs, "I've learned much in the bowels of oblivion!"

Armand comes at him again, but again he is rebuffed. This continues for some time, the large man laughing the whole time with a certain savage glee quite similar to Armand himself in the bowels of his alcoholic depression. At last, he springs at the mighty man, bringing his daggers to his neck. The large man's head goes flying. A fountain of blood spurts out of the stump as the body goes down, spraying Armand's lips.

He tastes.

"It tastes good, no?" asks the large man's voice in Armand's head. "'Tis the best wine, revenge...."

He shakes this taunt from beyond the grave off and he rushes to the dying girl's side. He scoops her up and holds her close. She looks up at him with piteous eyes. Her mouth opens and a small rill of blood courses from the corner of her exquisite lips.

"Armand..." she says, "Why have you forgotten? 'Tis so cold, down in the grave....so cold....yet you are not there to warm me."

"B-but..." Armand stammers, "'Tis not like that....you're gone now; so long gone, my kind...."

"I never understood your kind, monster!" she retorts, "At least I could take solace in your memory....alas, I've been cast aside, replaced. I thought I meant more to you than that."

"I....Ivonne....I...." he chokes out, tears welling in his eyes.

She places a finger on his lips.

"Nothing shall change this now....die alone and in shame....you thoughtless creature...."

She lets out a final sigh and expires. The severed head erupts into laughter. A brick flies through the window and the sounds of a large crowd can be heard outside. Torches blaze in the windows and war-drums beat. The crowd takes up a hideous chant and a cannon is heard. The room explodes in a shower of heat, flame, and death.

* * *

He awakes in his chambers, his clothes soaked in sweat. He shakes, disturbed by the dream and fumbles for a bottle of wine on his nightstand.

Armand: "Merde...." it's gone.