D'alton sits in his old room in the attic of the Braun family mansion. The detritus of an abandoned life lays in piles around him. The air is hazy with smoke and the dust of disturbed memories. An old brass oil lamp, clad in spiderwebs, flickers feebly next to him as he takes a grimacing drink of brown swill. His revolver is clutched in his other hand, gleaming with gun oil.
His legs are crossed, and on his lap is a photo, worn and aged, the faded brown of a less modern style of photo. On the right side of the photo is a young Fell Human woman, Ko'serra. On the left side of the photo is a young couple, Ko'serra and a smiling D'alton. D'alton's deft fingers brush across a gray, curving sword blade as the move to claim a bullet from the pile near the sword. He loads a round into the revolver.
With halting motions, he slams the chamber shut and his thumb fumbles as he pulls back the hammer on the revolver. His hollow eyes gaze at the revolver, and the photo, he reverses the revolver and stares at it dispassionately, closing his eyes and pressing the barrel to his forehead. His features twist and his hands shake, he thrusts the barrel of the revolver into his mouth, his eyes wide and focused now.
His teeth bite into the metal of the gun and his chest surges with his rapid breathing, he grips the revolver with both hands now, his eyes closing, his face a twisted and broken mockery of that on the picture on his lap. His finger tightens on the trigger. He gasps, curses, pulls the revolver from his mouth and smacks it against his forehead, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
The gun lies next to him, forgotten, as he weeps and draws the photo to his face, clutching it there, murmuring. and weeping.
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