What happens with the wretched souls when their life was brilliant after their accomplished blinding, divine ambitions? How about to the blissful ones? As their only thing they wanted is a family. Jude and Timothy's last dance is their last dance in the purgatory.

Iron Maiden- Dance of Death

Let me tell you a story to chill the bones
About a thing that I saw
One night wandering in the everglades
I'd one drink but no more

After Briarcliff's exposion by the famous journalist Lana Winters, the ambitious, persistent Cardinal felt remorses after the last time when he spotted occasionally .

Not only his reputation was endangered due to the fact the facility, where he used to work as he's responsible to give a commentary on hiring a former Nazi war criminal as a doctor of science and a serial killer as a doctor, the morbid conditions in the asylum, Shelley's death; moreover he verged his physical and mental stamina. He thought subsequently, figured out his missed opportunities which he could make sense for somebody else's life. The crucial midst them was more than a remorse. It was like a lacking fragment of his pounding heart in his chest. His blood froze abruptly as he dived in the mist, abysmal sea of his mind.

For what he was thinking right away? Oh no! It's his most memorable person, who used to take a part of his life. Person yearned for him more than anything. Who was tremendously loyal, consciously and spiritually devoted to him. Who was his right hand, his rare bird. Jude popped up in his mashed mind. But after her name left a track in his perplexed mind, he commenced to wonder about her. For example, how is she now? Is she still alive? If yes, where's her current residence?

After he stepped in his compact, however, richly embellished apartment in New York, he released a frustrated inhale. He felt more than peccant and tormented. Especially as his conscience, imminent issues tortured him, gnawing him slowly. Likewise he didn't know what to do right now. He doubted to continue his life. His New York miracle came true. Despite the false promise to one absent significant person.

He stepped in the bathroom, walking up to the sink as the mirror positioned above, reflexing his pale, nevertheless, handsome face for almost 40 years old man. His chocolate brown eyes darted blankly to his reflection, his unrealistic double him that stood in front of him. The sound of chirping birds were the only sound's source in the ghastly silent bathroom. The ambiance itself built its horrid predicting walls that embody its imminent prey of committed suicide.

I was rambling, enjoying the bright moonlight
Gazing up at the stars
Not aware of a presence so near to me
Watching my every move

After staring within 30 seconds at his own reflection in the mirror, he glimpsed below the rectangle wooden framed mirror as he noted a silver razor. His salvation to transmit his soul, layered in shadows somewhere else rather than dwelling in his body yet, keeping on with the bland life of Cardinal as his career is the sole reason to live his life. He pitied himself as he gaped the razor that glistened past him, grabbing his attention immediately.

No longer than 15 seconds of hesitation between either grasping the razor or just leaving it to lay onto the sink, he determined his fate. If he grasped in his hand, alternatively he would put an end to his life, full of sacred and unholy lies, hypocrisy and self-centrism.

Once he took the blade after his hesitancy, he scrutinized the sharp object as his palm's skin felt the coldness beneath the razor. He emitted a crude inhale from the top of his lungs, his tightened heart be shrouded in shadow ropes of plagued fatigue, imminent death and dullness, aching as it beat yet in his chest. It was his last hope to rescue himself from a couple of jeopardy.

He thought for a couple of seconds until he came with his final but lethal decision. Timothy walked up to the porcelain bath, filling the bath with lukewarm water. Whereas he stripped every garment of his as he held the blade in his sole free hand.

As soon as he stood nigh the already filled bath with nothing that hugged his excellently built body, he sat in the bath, exhaling as his chocolate eyes fixed on the glistening razor. His eyes radiated further off fear.

Then he commenced slitting his wrists slowly, feeling the morbidly sharp razor digging in his white like milk skin as the sharp edge penetrated, encircling with gore the silver verge as blood spurted thickly, marvelously. Last but not at least, he groaned faintly, sensing his gradual, accomplished mortality.

Feeling scared and I fell to my knees
As something rushed me from the trees
Took me to an unholy place
And that is where I fell from grace

When his wrists were slit, he dropped the bloody razor on the aristocratically marble tiled floor, a handful of gore drops surrounding the sharp, lethal object; his eyes gaped up at the ceiling, feeling the tremendous shame that invaded him to not look at his cuts. The bath's water vapored with blood, blanketing his sailing, motionless corpse.

Suddenly he heard a similar, nonetheless gentle voice approaching his ears as the angel of death, wearing gothic onyx attires, raven black hair haloing her pale, porcelain face with her vivid, red lips trembling as her heels clicked as she was on the other side of the bath, stroking Timothy's cheek with her gloved hand, her icy blue eyes looking up at his flinched facial expression.

Then they summoned me over to join in with them
To the dance of the dead

"Your time had arrived, Pope." Shachath exclaimed softly as her gloved hand's touch sent shivers down the Pope's spine of franticness.

He didn't answer her exclaimation, his eyes looked up at her, his mouth agape. He had abundance of questions to the fallen angel who was being encouraged to kiss him and end his pathetic life, thanks to his selfishness, blind, divine ambition. His skin electrified as he sensed goosebumps as his lukewarm body chilled.

"Are you ready, Timothy?" The angel of death inquired as she was prepared to press her lips on his trembling, cold ones, her winter blue eyes darted to his chocolate that gave her a shameful eyeing.

"Yes. Release me, please." The priest felt already defeated as he said his final words in pleading, low voice.

Into the circle of fire I followed them
Into the middle I was led

Without hesitation, the goth, grim angel pressed gently her lips on his, cupping his cheek as she fluttered her grand feather wings, closing her eyes as Timothy's heart stopped functioning, his corpse laying in the bloodbath, his hands rested outside the bath.