Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Two Hundred and Eight

From the second he saw her, his teeth itched for her long, white throat. He smiled and went about obtaining his desire. He obtained the mortgages on her family home and all her father’s personal debts. He called in those debts. The ruined man shot himself.

That night they brought her to his bed dressed in a robe of deepest red velvet and with her hair loose about her.

“Do I have no say?” 

He laughed in her face.

“None.”

He didn’t see her withdraw the oak stake from her sleeve. Nor did he feel it pierce his black heart.

©️jj 2019

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