Episode Three

Rowland hopped down from the crates that lead him into an abandoned apartment complex. He snickered thinking about Pablo and Elion, what they had just told him. Such fools like he would believe them. The Antiquarian was getting smarter. So then he had to be smarter. He had to outsmart them. He walked farther into the complex away from the window and looked around. There was dust and pieces of a broken chandelier covering the floor. Little antiques lay spread out with missing pieces. He sat down on a broken sofa with a missing leg, trying to catch his breath. This whole time he had been running from the antiquarian, he just wanted to find Aritetta and go back to his time. Rowland sunk low into the sofa letting himself relax and drop some of his guards. He sighed, opening his pocket watch. It held a picture of Arietta and him together. The only picture they had taken together before she died. He had to get back to her house before it happened again. The scene played over and over again in his mind. 

"Will you push me in the swing, my love?" She asked sweetly. Her arms wrapped around his neck. Her cherry tinted lips whispered kindly in his ear. "I don't think I can do that sweet heart." He teased her. She smiled widely. "Why not? There is nothing for you to attend to at the moment." He pulled her closer to him and kissed her cheek, taking in her smell. She smelled of lilac and vanilla. Just like the colour of her lips, his cheeks flushed cherry red thinking of the time he was to spend holding her. "Yes there is." She laughed. "What is it my love?" Her hands now tangled you in his hair. He smiled mischievously, wrapping his arms tighter around her. "I'm holding you and if I were to let you go to push you on the swing, I will have to part with you." She giggled and kissed his cheek. "Well, I better not swing then." 

Rowland gasped. Biting his lips trying to hold back his tears. He dropped his head in face, a few salty tears escaping his watery eyes.  Suddenly dust began to swirl and rise from the pieces of glass on the floor forming a dark, black figure. Rowland swallowed the lump in his throat and sat up to greet what was coming. So I can't even cry if I want to. He growled. I have no time to myself. No time to grieve and breathe. He stood and drew a dagger as the dust formed a man.