In The Event of My Untimely Death

[Scratcherclaw]

“In the event of my untimely death...” it reads, the parchment spattered with crimson flecks.
“...know that I exited this world with the heartfelt memories of all who I’ve loved.” Hastily scrawled, with its fair share of uncrossed T’s and thumbprint smudges, the document lies solitary, its sentiment gathering nothing but dust.

“To my wife, Annabelle: I have loved you every day as much as the day my eyes first laid across you. It is my biggest regret to now leave you alone for the rest of your years. To you, I leave the entire estate. Do with it what you will, as it’s yours now, my darling.” A crude heart, smeared by a teardrop follows.

“And to my only son, Frédéric: I may not always say it, but I love you. I could not be more proud of what a young man you’ve grown into. Promise me that you’ll take care of your mother in my absence. Elys knows she’ll need it.”

Illegible Imardanian and bloodstains occupies the remainder of the parchment, save the perfect signature at the bottom.

Monsieur Louis Géroux


The corpse lies peacefully still, adorned in the regalia of a typical aristocrat. A blank expression on the man’s face conveys neither bliss nor sorrow, only the tranquility of a weary man finally at rest. His shirt remains its pristine white, apart from the scarlet-stained left breast. A smoldering flintlock rests nearly a foot away, alongside a bottle of unoaked Chardonnay.

Beyond the walls of the dead man’s chambers, a sun-lit day unfolds in Ellisport, those outside blissfully unaware of the events that had unfolded within. The trill of a bluebird echos through the desolate room, its pleasant cheer falling upon vacant ears. It would be hours before anyone would stumble upon the corpse.

On the opposite side of town, a woman awakens to an empty bed, her husband not slumbering beside her like every morning before. Confusion and panic overtake her as she frantically searches the family’s manor, shouting his name but only hearing the echoes of her own lament. But the home remains quiet in response, with no signs of the man, whether in person or a reassuring note. Although the truth is unknown to her, his absence is truth enough, and agony and despair overcome her.

Much to her dismay, her husband does not come rushing in to comfort her, as a glint of hope wanted. But her husband lies ever still, his own departed memories no longer able to illustrate what had occurred.