Tartarus She writes how much she hates him on the steamed bathroom mirror, while he showers and tries not to touch himself. It is too cold to leave the house, and has been that way for seventeen days. Ever since they got here. Every time they open the door, an icy wind assaults them and they slam it shut, faces red, as if they have both been slapped. And so they are stranded here together. The villa makes quite a cozy prison; is a desirable ghostcode, they have been informed. They play Scrabble to pass the time; she cheats, and he lets her. Same as he says nothing when she digs her fingernails into his neck while he tries to sleep. He rarely sleeps, and never dreams. If he did, he knows it would be a fantasy in which he left her months ago - months before their car flew off the road and brought them to a villa in the middle of an icy waste. Staying with her for those extra months had felt like hell enough, but now he knows better. Dying was so much easier than this.

LBD She found the perfect little black dress in a tiny shop on the edge of town. It made her small bits look big and her big bits look small; it was the kind of garment a girl could fall for. But she had her eye on another. Stepping out of the taxi and skipping to the party, she couldn't help but notice other people wearing black too. Slimming, she supposed. Classic. She spotted Oliver through the crowd and made her way over, reaching out to touch his shoulder. She gave him a little smile and told him how sorry she was for his loss. Surrounded by lilies, the portrait of Oliver's late wife looked on reproachfully.