#dingdongthewitchisdead

Oh, it had been some time since Opheaux had visited Beurghes. It was shameful.

-- but the Void Elf didn’t approach the altar with a downcast gaze or an agonized apology on his lips. No, there only lay on his beguiling, angular features...a smile. One that was gentle and easy, just as if he were visiting an old friend and not some better-off-dead hollow of a man. He spoke softly, his voice kind yet incredulous,

“...I didn’t believe it. Yet here you are...” Dead--after having been dying--hastening his journey into some fiery depth of a fate with all of his evil doings. Opheaux sighed out, a laugh shaking his throat,

“Bad men do not receive happy endings, Beurghes...They are never destined to...” The man did not kneel to leave his offering, but rather draped it across the stone before him:

Something of Beurghes’. Perhaps pinched during a...rather domestic argument or skillfully swiped off the druid’s clothing. Something fanciful, something obnoxiously expensive and boundlessly gorgeous and flawless in its craftsmanship. Something shining and gold for the tyrant--a golden-chained necklace with the centerpiece of an indigo, crimson-veined gem.

Gold for the monster, but not a tear shed.

“I...had wished once...--” --Perhaps, that Beurghes would have found a semblance of a happy ending...The elf shook his head, turning away from the brute’s final resting place before speaking with /mournful/ hesitance,

“--that your fate would be different...but it was never to be, was it...?”