Rating: K+
Word count: 100
Prompt: Bittersweet
Thank you for all of your help, RikaDivani! You're lovely.
Tick, tick, tick.
Eighty years ago she forbid any clocks in the house.
Except for one.
Resting on the mantle, the cuckoo clock is only slightly younger than her. Surprisingly the rusted springs still worked; each hour the faded canary appearing to sing.
She hates it.
Gold irises sweep to the gilded mirror. Flawless skin, radiantly golden locks, and wild eyes reflected back. Dryly she swallows.
She is the definition of youth.
Resting against propped up pillows the man inhales; his chest harshly rattling with each breath.
She flinches; knowing death approaches.
"I love you" She whispers.
The canary sings.