Each night since he moved in the woman from the picture filled his dreams. Her red hair, cherry lips and alabaster skin consuming him.
“Stay with me” she would ask, and he would swear he would remain but with mornings advent they were parted.
“Why do you forsake me” she asked, “don’t you love me?”
“I do” he insisted, “with everything”.
“Then you know what to do.”
As his limp hand dropped the bottle of sleeping tablets, his life ebbing away, she appeared one final time – her face now a mask of death.
“Sleep” she said smiling, “welcome to my home.”
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