calloused and rigid, I traced his coarse fingertips across my hand, like a palm-reading, adoration blossoming in the pit of my stomach.

he looked like a god, lying in the coffin with his eyes closed and his arms draped across his stationary chest- he looked better dead than alive.

My hands were cold, so I reached out for his.

forgetting the chill of death that encased his once warm fingertips.

As a voice whispered quietly into my ear "And here I thought you were above stealing from the dead."

With a pen in my hand, I proceeded to create my masterpiece.

That was the moment when I knew that I had become too greedy and blind to danger.

I sat down and thought of the most obtuse title I could think of and commenced with my story, I was determined it was going to be a hit.

Destiny has many faces, and today it decided that it just absolutely had to wear mine.