The door shuts without a sound. The shadow who has slipped in, dark clad and severe, holds his gaze with a look that seeks to pierce him through, flay him until she sees bone, until that voice of his ruins itself with howling shrieks.

"I don't enjoy someone making a fool out of me."

He had said he had no idea. He had said he did not know. And fool that she was, she had felt heartache for him, offered comfort and consolation for his lost love. Had he lied? Had he lied to her when she had extended herself and tried to honor friendship with honesty? If he had lied, she'll make him dance, so shall be his spasms of agony.

(But he is her friend, her friend, and does she really want to cause him such pain?)

(Does a man with a death wish even fear such?)