Everalto had a dark expression as he looked towards the green spread of his lawns behind his mansion. Too many memories; most of them tragic. As he watched his lovely wife riding unbridled in the farthest reaches of his estate, he thought all that he had done to wrong her. He watched her copper brown hair gleaming in the sunlight, shining through the pines at irregular intervals. He could not undo what had been done. The sand was already trickling down and time was unstoppable. The gears were already in motion.
He moved away from the blinds and walked back into his study, lighting a cigarette nonchalantly. Mademoiselle Kirkshaw was trouble. No, she was evil. But who was he to blame? He knew why she was coming. He had rolled the rock too far downhill without realizing that he was stuck to it. Now it was too late. Pity. A beautiful woman might have to die. He did owe Miss Kirkshaw, after all.