The Mourning of a Doomed Romance

Prologue

Letum sat comfortably upon the faux leather couch of his apartment, his leg bouncing up and down rapidly. He lifted his arm, glancing at the time displayed upon his golden wristwatch. 8:26.

The party was supposed to "Start" at 8:30- but people probably wouldn't begin showing up until around 9 and after. Which left Letum, alone, with only his thoughts to keep him company. A state where he was vulnerable, armed only with the recollections of the life he once knew.

What a sick state it was to be in.

Letum looked around the barren living room. A worn-down coffee table, a couple rugs he'd thrown down to cover the scratches in the wooden floor, a large flat screen TV Kara had stolen back when she was still living with him.. and then, of course, there were the pictures; Portraits of their family, pictures of Kara's childhood, photos of Letum and Aella back when they were happy in their marriage. Sick memories that haunted him with every glance.

He knows it's his fault Aella left. He can't deny it, defend himself, anything like that. He's a horrible husband; a cheater, a liar, craving the validation of others to feel something, to feel anything.

In the beginning, he blamed it on his "occupation." Of course, being the God of Death isn't easy, but it's hardly the cause of his commitment problems and pathetic need for respect. Besides, Aella was a Goddess herself; she knows what it's like. He can't lie to her about that, no matter how much he may try. He couldn't manipulate, lie, or deceive her even if he used his best efforts. She'd outsmart him every single time.

Then, there was Kara. His sweet, beautiful Kara. Goddammit, he loves her. And Goddammit, is he proud of her. Even if she married a monarchy-loving lowlife scum-sucking fuckhead. For the longest time, Kara was the only thing holding Letum and Aella's marriage together. Their wonderful daughter, a perfect family.. At least, in the eyes of the public, they were. Underneath all the perfection, past the blood stained curtains and sound-proof walls, was a broken home of lies and fraud.

That's probably what led him here. Sober despite himself, perched upon the leather sofa he used to make love to his wife on, tired grey eyes fixed upon the door as people began pouring in. Drinks passed around him, LED lights flashing in the rooms as music blared in his ears. Fake smiles, practiced charisma, dirty pickup lines that would get him nowhere. All apart of the charm.

Showtime.

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