D A R K

R A I N B O W S

- Dim Aldebaran -

Red earrings. They looked like drops of fire to him, falling down in an eternal struggle to burn the ivory of her taboo shoulders.

He could imagine their cousins, jewel-like beneath a film of pale skin. He could see their pulse in the hollow of her throat, where her lifeblood strained to be freed. His eyes followed the sweet lines of her collarbone, tracing the path it would follow if it were to escape: highlighting the white curves of her throat with a glorious crimson—

Darkness, all around. Tinted with green; stained with black. He blamed Dublin's budget for alleyway lighting.

Something was draining in the gutter; it smelled like gold and sounded like death.

Aurum est potestas: aurum est sanguine.

"I love you," she murmured against his Armani suit.

He answered with the touch of a troubadour: "And I, you."

He could see the curve of her smile, suppressed by his shoulder. She drew away from him; a halo of stray hairs formed, gold against the deep purple of the night. The city had killed the stars; there was only indigo in the heavens, swirled with the primordial ebony of Kaos.

Yellow glinted on her finger as she idly traced his jawline, like the half-lidded eye of a cat. He couldn't see the accompanying diamond, but he knew it was there. He should know, after all.

He didn't know where it had fallen. He considered scrabbling for it on his knees, like some blind madman—perhaps Phineus—but he already had plenty of DNA evidence on him. More might… incriminate him.

Pity. It had been a rather expensive ring, even for a belovèd.

Fingerprints. He had almost forgotten.

There was only one place where he had left fingerprints.

The gun was doused in a pool of orange streetlight, which was fierce like citrine crystals in the sun. It glinted a cold blue, the blue of dying on the ice, the blue of dying alone.

He picked it up, slipping it into his pocket. It was a heavy weight against his thigh.

Second thoughts were a tingle; it felt like hair rustling against his brow, blown by a cold winter wind.

He ignored them: there was only that weight in his pocket, heavy as lead—heavy as gold.

He smiled icily. Aurum est potestas: aurum est sanguine: sanguine est potestas.

He looked back. Her silhouette was black against the rainbow-colored shadows.

Before he left, he made sure to blow a kiss. The irony was sweet on his lips.

:i:

418 words, AFJB.