He went tohis dresser and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs for his work out.Shower now completed, he sipped at his morning's first coffee. He went tohis closet and pull out his uniform. His eyes wandered to the back ofthe rack of clothes to where he hid the assortment of clothing items thatwere ill suited for a man's body. Growing up, he had always gotten athrill from wearing his mother's clothes. Looking back, in some ways sheseemed to tacitly encourage it, as though she knew. This was, of course,before the tensions with Virago had started in earnest, back when itwould have just been embarrassing to be found in women's clothes. Now itwas downright dangerous to be seen as sympathetic to Virago in any way,at best it would jeopardize his career. Logically, however, it was aharmless dalliance he allowed himself when he was alone. He told himselfit relaxed him and relieved the stress. At any rate, he couldn't reallystop doing it. Over the years he had purged his wardrobe of. Her only joy was Bernard had decided to stay with her, despite his obvious hatred of the man she was to marry, but the happiness of the day was destroyed when an army of men dressed in black stormed the château killing everyone in the household, even the bride suffered a fatal stab wound to the heart. Monique woke with a start, breathless and drenched with sweat from the nightmare of the memory of her parents death, which had haunted her for four years. Why did I survive? An old question creaked slowly through mist of a fading dream, Monique felt cold and afraid for the first time in years old night terrors from her childhood taunted her from the dark, terrors Bernard had kept away every night since they’d met but he wasn’t here. ‘Where are you?’ she whispered into the night ‘I’m here with you.’ She heard him reply in her mind ‘No, your not here you left I am now truly alone’ she replied back to the blackness focusing on a human shaped shadow in the corner. ‘I’d never leave, ever,.
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