The champagne tasted of copper.

I drank it. The glass shattered in my hand.

Red. Sharp. Hot.

Lord Ashworth smiled. His teeth were white. Perfect.

"Careful, Elias," he said. His voice was silk. It wrapped around my throat.

I looked at the floor. The shards. The bubbles. The wine. It looked like blood. It was not blood. It was red.

He did not blink. He sipped his own wine. He did not spill a drop.

I am a servant. I am a ghost. I am the shadow in the corner. I am the stain on the white tablecloth.

The hall was loud. The music was loud. The laughter was sharp. It cut the air. It cut the skin.

I stood still. I held the broken glass. The cut was deep. It bled. A single drop. It fell onto the white shirt. It bloomed. It spread.

Ashworth watched. He did not call a doctor. He did not call a maid. He watched the red. He watched the red on the white.

"You have a gift, Elias," he said.

I did not speak. I could not. My mouth was dry. My heart was a stone. I was afraid. I was afraid of him. I was afraid of the glass. I was afraid of the red.

He reached out. He took my hand. His grip was tight. He pulled the glass from my fingers. He dropped it. It clattered.

He wiped my hand with his handkerchief. The cloth was white. The cloth became red.

"Clean," he said.

I looked at the cloth. It was ruined. It was stained. It was dead.

I felt a strange calm. I felt a strange power. I held the secret. I held the pain. I held the truth.

The truth was this: I had poisoned the wine. Not this glass. The other glass. The one Ashworth would drink. The one that looked clean. The one that looked safe.

I had used the powder. The white powder. It looked like salt. It looked like sugar. It tasted of nothing. It killed slowly. It killed quietly. It killed with grace.

I had done it for love. I had done it for myself. I was the lover. I was the victim. I was the king.

Ashworth laughed. He laughed at my fear. He laughed at my blood.

"You are shaking," he said.

"I am cold," I said.

My voice was low. It was a whisper. It was a snake.

He looked at me. His eyes were dark. They were deep. They were wells. I fell into them. I sank. I drowned.

"Come with me," he said.

I followed him. We left the hall. We left the music. We left the light.

We walked down the corridor. The walls were dark. The shadows were long. They moved. They breathed.

We entered his study. The room was cold. The fire was out. The chairs were empty.

He sat down. He pointed to the chair across from him.

"Sit," he said.

I sat. The chair was hard. The wood was cold.

He poured the wine. He poured it into two glasses. He held one. He held one.

"Drink," he said.

I took the glass. I raised it to my lips.

I did not drink. I looked at him. He looked at me.

He smiled. He raised his glass. He drank.

He drank it all.

He set the glass down. He smiled again.

"Good," he said.

I waited. I watched. I listened.

He coughed. A small sound. A dry sound.

He coughed again.

His face turned red. Then white. Then gray.

He fell back in the chair. His head hit the wood. It made a thud. It was a dull sound. It was a final sound.

I did not move. I did not breathe.

I watched him die. I watched the life leave him. I watched the light leave his eyes.

He died.

I stood up. My legs were weak. My knees shook.

I looked at the glass in his hand. It was empty. It was clean.

I looked at my own glass. It was full. It was red. It was beautiful.

I had not poisoned that glass. I had poisoned his.

I had played a game. I had played a trick. I had used my mind. I had used my fear. I had used my love for myself.

I was free.

I was alone.

I walked out of the study. I walked down the corridor. I walked to the door.

I opened the door.

The hall was still loud. The music was still loud. The laughter was still sharp.

No one saw me. No one saw the blood on my shirt. No one saw the fear in my eyes.

I was invisible. I was a ghost. I was a thing.

I walked to the window. I opened it. The night air hit my face. It was cold. It was clean.

I looked down. The ground was far. The dark was deep.

I held the glass. I held the red liquid.

I drank it.

It tasted of ash. It tasted of iron. It tasted of life.

I felt the burn. I felt the poison. I felt the end.

I smiled.

I was the master. I was the victim. I was the god.

I was free.

The glass shattered in my hand.

The shards cut my fingers. The blood dripped. It fell into the dark. It was gone.

I fell.

I fell into the dark.

I fell into the silence.

I was alone.

I was safe.

I was dead.

The music played on. The laughter rang out. The night was long. The night was cold. The night was empty.

I was part of it. I was part of the dark. I was part of the silence.

I was home.

I had won.

I had lost.

I was nothing.

I was everything.

The red faded. The white remained. The glass was gone. The blood was gone. The man was gone.

I was there.

I was still there.

The pain was sharp. The pain was clear. The pain was real.

I closed my eyes.

I opened them.

The world was the same. The world was different.

I was the same. I was different.

I was free.

The promise was distant. The promise was broken. The promise was mine.

I held it. I held the shards. I held the blood. I held the silence.

I was the king.

I was the ghost.

I was the end.

The night swallowed me. The night kept me. The night loved me.

I was safe.

I was alone.

I was free.

The glass was gone. The wine was gone. The man was gone.

I was there.

I was still there.

The pain was sharp. The pain was clear. The pain was real.

I smiled.

I was home.