Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – One Hundred and Five

The wine was as red as blood. She held her glass up to the light and watched the play of colour in the crystal. 

The man across the table watched her perfect beauty through haunted eyes.

He put out a hand as if to touch her face but drew back at the last second, afraid to profane the moment.

She smiled with absent sweetness, and sipped the wine.

It was fast acting poison but, he had been assured, humane.

He counted silently, and when he reached twenty she slipped from her chair.

“So perish unfaithful wives.”

He wiped a tear…

©️jj 2018

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