novena. greed.
His home was dark, barely lit by melting candles by which the wind threatened to extinguish. It was a large, extravagant home – filled with impractical, profligate and pretty objects. His affluence put on display, sitting upon a red velvet cushion. The man sat in on a grandiose chaise longue, watching as his Rottweiler snoozed slothfully at the front door, though asleep, a threat to those who wished to take from him. He looked down to his wife, lying in his arms, drunk by the hand of wine. She was a woman of beauty – tall, slim with delicate features. He fantasised of her smile, though it was not directed at him. It was, earlier that day, directed at some uninteresting beggar, dressed in a tweed suit with dark hair. He too, had noticed her good looks, and she had been well aware of it. Aaroniero thought deeply to himself, of the way she leant into the man, sloppily letting her skirt hike up ever so slightly without indignity. She tossed her thick, chocolate hair over her shoulder, giving the man just enough skin to gawk at.
The thought made his stomach turn. He gripped her more tightly in his arms, his heart beating fast. He inhaled her rich, sweet scent, feeling her warmth against his chest. Suddenly, the dog at the door began to stir. He thought to let the animal outside, standing abruptly. The woman's body fell limply to the floor, with the grace of a sack of garbage. Red stained his white button down, which clung to his skin. He whipped his hand clean, warm blood flicking from his fingers.
Oh, he loved her so. She would always be his.