Here I stand, like an idiot because what I want is forbidden. Not forbidden like an abandoned city in a fairytale, or forbidden like going to a house party when you’re 16. It’s not whispered by a first grade teacher as she pans the book across room so everyone can see the spooky castle. Nor is it demanded by a stern parent who’s secretly praying you can still be frightened into obedience. This type of forbidden is only delivered once, in a flat iron tone, through unblinking eyes that leave no room for misinterpretation. There are a thousand ways it could go wrong, each with it’s own unique brand of retribution, and only one way it could go right.

Yet, here I stand, contemplating the odds, because her eyes promise kindness; her touch, warmth; and her lips, a pleasure that I have never and will never encounter again in my life.

Here I stand, feet from the dark stain on the wall to my left:  a parting gift from the last man that wandered this far. An indistinct splatter moving out and away:  the type of permanent tint that’s left behind when blood sinks into stone, and crimson turns to black.

Yet, as I stare at the last fading remnants of my predecessor—this shadow cast by no one—I feel only envy. I heard the son of a bitch didn’t even know they knew until the ax was an inch from his face. Probably died with a smile, still too high on her scent to smell the sweat-stained leather of the man hidden just out of sight: a man well-paid for his brutality. He was probably still too drunk on her touch to feel the weight of the blow that opened his skull.

At least that’s what I tell myself, in the hopes that my end will come just as quick.