The Falling Locket

Prologue

                Once upon a time, he had loved the rain. He had loved the way the rain would trickle down the leaded window pane, distorting his view of the dimly light cobbled streets. He had loved the wondrous music the droplets would make as they pelted his roof in a vain attempt to puddle up on his floors. He had loved the mist that would follow in the dry mornings, blanketing the bustling town and lulling it back into slumber. But now, as his broken gaze stared out the tiny window in his tiny room he despised the phenomenon. With each and every drop that pounded against his only outlook to the world his abhorrence for humanity only built. The rain was not something to be admired. It brought death, sorrow, pain, heartache—there wasn't one good thing that came to mind when it showered. All he saw was her. He saw the love in her clouded orbs, the crimson that leaked from her mouth and stained her porcelain skin, the blood on his hands and her beautiful blouse. But the worse part of it all was the infinitesimal clang of metal hitting the stone. Over and over it rang in his mind as a never ending loop and a constant reminder that if he had been only a moment earlier, her death would not be on his hands.