He paces.

“Everything is changed. We have become insignificant. Meaningless. Powerless. When did this happen? How could this happen? All the old gods are dead. All the monsters have been pierced with wooden stakes and silver bullets. Not even their ghosts remain now. They are all gone, all dust. Everything is finished. What more is there? This must be the end.”

He passes the empty glass from hand to hand restlessly.

“We were all that was left, you and I. We, monsters of a different sort. Heartless but human. Dark new gods for this modern world. We were kings in our own right, beautiful and terrible. We were all that was left but still not hardly enough, not ever enough, and now even you have left me. What am I to do? What have I left, now? I cannot continue this. I feel so old–”


Momentarily startled by the interruption, Tanim blinks from his reverie and glances to the far doorway. Leaning against the door frame, Jonathan crosses his arms and frowns.

“Who are you talking to?”

Tanim surveys the empty library, then shakes his head as if to chase away lingering ghosts.

“No one.”

Jonathan adjusts the tie of his dark suit and eyes Tanim dubiously.

“Well, are you coming? You’re one of the pallbearers, you know.”

Tanim nods slowly and feigns a properly apologetic smile, blank as it is within his distracted eyes.

“Yes. Of course. Just a moment, Jon. I’ll be right down.”

He waits for the other man to leave, then reaches over and fills his glass once again. He stares down into the alcohol, searching for an answer to his questions within the amber liquid. Finding none, and no comfort in a glass half full, he raises his glass to the empty room.

“Cheers, darling,” he mutters, and downs the drink.

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