Night after night she waited, while the walls were crying silently around her, dark tears running down cold walls. She wondered; perhaps the walls weren't crying, perhaps they were bleeding.

His whole life he had danced with darkness, and he had to admit to himself, it was almost too fitting that the kiss of darkness would be his end too. It was sweet irony and he deserved it, he almost needed it.

He lay down on his back staring at the ceiling, thinking about her; how beautiful she was, how brave and strong. Then how frail she was, how easily he could hurt her, how easily he could crush her, or even kill her.

He looked at his own pale arm, still clean of the mark. The only question was weather it would stay so in the future.

He would die, that was his task, to fail and die. And she would watch. Not as he died, but as he killed himself trying to save everything he knew, everything he had.