Funny how I'm sharing my last meal with the person who's going to kill me, but hey, that's life. He had already been lying on my bed for half an hour when I came home to him complaining that I have far too many pillows. Immediately after, he paced around my room his wings twitching every once in a while to fit into the smaller places. My maid then came in to enquire about my dinner. For two, I said for, what was else was I going to do with this intriguing houseguest. He said that he was called Flynn, and with a small wave of his hand, gave me a business card and told me I was to die in exactly three hours and twenty two minutes. I would have spoken if I had words to speak. Alas, his demeanor left me in a state similar to paralysis. Being in a curious state of mind, he managed still to hold my attention as he floated to my study. There, he gazed at the many volumes of books that were particularly organized and clean. Upon reaching the shelf of Shakespeare, he pulled out one book. Romeo and Juliet, turned back to me and asked who in their right mind would read this shit. I found it rather rude for a houseguest to be saying something so blatantly rude, but found it awfully difficult to find words to express my disdain when he caused the book to burn to ashes in midair. I thought to myself that he must be some sort of demon or bad omen sent to me for doing who knows what wrong. In that case, I immediately ran back down the hall to the front door. I opened the door expecting to find freedom in the streets of London. Instead, he was standing there like he was about to knock on the door.
"I'm sorry, miss," he said, "but I'm still somewhat new at this and would very much appreciate it if you would stick to your fate."
He gently took my hand, turned me back to my prison, and silently closed the door behind him.
"Besides, I believe dinner is ready," he added.
I sat across from him at the table watching him with even more curiosity as he took the utmost care in eating with the best manners possible.
"How is it that I am the only one who has noticed how positively strange you are?" I finally asked. He took a moment to sip his wine before giving a reply.
"You are the only one who is about to die. Therefore, you are the only one who can see past the illusions."
"And how exactly am I supposed to die," I questioned.
"Why, you have already been poisoned. Your maid was paid quite a large sum of money to put that elixir in your wine. Quite skilled at mixing it, too. She'll live comfortably in the country for a long time after tonight."