Diamond Days

Death is not when your heart stops beating, or when your brain stops firing. True death only comes when your memories, and memories of you, have vanished. This is doubly true for the specters we leave behind. 

Tacoma is a tough city to be supernatural in. Much as the ground has been tainted by various smelted chemicals in the past, the veil between the various layers of the afterlife is brittle and sickly.

Among magical members of Tacoma's population, it's known succinctly as The Weakness, reflecting how difficult it makes almost all forms of magic. But for the Wraiths, the dearly departed who couldn't leave the world behind, it's a double-edged sword. The thinning of the veil allows them greater access to the moral world, where memories, life, and strength lie, but so too is the veil thin between them and Oblivion, the great nothingness that births their darkest reflections.

This has caused them to have a greater struggle than the departed souls of other locations, and they have more than once lost their Necropolis, their phantasmal harbor in the sea of memories. But, since the latest erasure in the 1940’s, they have done as people always do best, and keep moving on, even as they cannot Move On.

Thus, past the epidermal layer where the freshly deceased and weak spirits linger, past the roiling storm of memories, history, and screeching horrors, there exists a centerpiece, a glowing gem, safe in its own bubble.

It is the illustrious Hollywood!

The architects of this land named it for the ramshackle Hoover Town created in the wake of the Great Depression yet modeled it after the bold cultural image of the Roaring 20’s. It radiates a level of exuberance Tacoma herself never saw at that time, making it a pocket of indulgence and passion. In this facet of the afterlife, memories make the man in more ways than one. 

But, then, what of those who lost much in the absence of flesh? What of those who were torn and tossed in the storm? What of those who haven’t been able to protect that which binds them to the world?

Connie was one such person. 

She was a part of what you might call Hollywood’s “lower class” for lack of a better word. By the time she had awoken in the phantasmal city, she had next to no memories, and one meager Fetter, a thin string with one single pearl, far from the elegant necklace it presumably once was. She didn’t even know where it was in the real world, only that it was bound to the facsimile she wore on her ghostly person.

But, she didn’t let her limitations get her down. Each day she worked at a boutique, her wage being loose and ownerless memories that could not only be used to keep her Fetter strong against the pull of oblivion, but also to exchange for the talents of various Wraiths, hoping one could ignite the memories that weren’t already present.

She frequented many such artisans, looking for that igniting spark. Her favorite was Memento Memoria, a tucked-away speakeasy whose owner, Gediminas, Dimi to his friends, excelled in whisking together drinks of memories, emotions, and other faint mental triggers that would fall under the category of “vibes”.

After one particular long “night” of work, Connie strolled in with a grin, greeting the empty smokey bar.  “Well, don’t everybody greet me at once!” She chuckled, with only Dimi there to roll his eyes with a smirk.

“Constant Connie, coming back again.” His raspy voice greeted as she practically bounded to the bar, an easy feat to do when you don’t have weight or physical form to worry about.

“Of course! ‘S why you gave me that name after all.”

“Well, had to put something on your tab, and there’s too many other nameless bastards around. Speaking of-”

“Got it here!” She pulled out a small box from a messenger bag at her hip, which just so happened to only have the box inside it, and turned it around to present to him the pieces of memories lingering inside.

But before he could whisk them up into his own possession, she snapped it shut. “First thing’s first,” Dimi rolled his eyes, already knowing what she was going to ask.

“Whip me up something good! Jiacomo told me you got something really interesting!”

“You know, you can just pay and then order more, right? Always so dramatic.” Even with his exasperation, he reached under the counter for the various specially marked bottles he had.

“Says the mysterious speakeasy owner surrounded by roaring 20’s roleplayers. Seriously, you could stand to open up a bit more yourself, unless…gasp, are we kindred spirits? Is that why you’ve never turned me down all these years!?” Connie asked with an exaggerated sigh and slow faint over the bar counter.

“Exhibit A in the drama department, my dear, and no. I have my memories and my old life, but the duty of a bartender is to listen, not to rant. Besides, I only share my personal details with those who pay for them or lovers. As for not turning you down,” he finally found the bottle he was searching for, and prepared a crystalline glass. “You have the conversational grace of a squall and the stubbornness of a gaelic fortress. I couldn’t if I tried.”

“So I’ve got to either pay you, or make you fall for me. Wait, do people pay you to be their lover? Are you a gigo-”

“OH please, Connie, have some decorum.” He couldn’t resist the faint blush of embarrassment as he began to mix a few distinct “ingredients” together. The base was his latest import, a distilled vintage of Longing, as bitter and sharp as the finest Gin. For Connie, she’d never be able to drink it straight, even in sips, so he decides to lighten it with the syrupy bittersweetness of Past Joy, but adds a twist of Absence to keep it sharp and notable. After all, the reason his raven-haired secret-favorite kept coming back was to awaken what had been lost.

The next step was to shake it all together. She had never said it, but this was Connie’s favorite part. There was a grace to how he did it, not necessarily a flair like many bartenders add to get their well-earned tips, but a flow. At times, it almost reminded her of a conductor.

“Here you are, Dry Nostalgia, in the styling of Bee’s Knees.” The glass was filled and carefully placed in front of her. 

There was a tense energy for a moment, as Connie looked at the glass, mask of pep dropping for the moment to show sincere nervousness and uncertainty. It was palpable enough that Dimi was tempted to try and grab a whiff for garnish, but he too was entranced in this moment. 

Gediminas had seen his drinks spark memories in many a wraith before, for better or for worse, but those were always ones with some sort of lead or hint towards what was missing. They were filling in a missing spot of the painting, but Connie was a Tabula Rasa, throwing paint to see what would stick.

And so far, nothing did.

She picked up the glass, let it settle on her lips, and took a delicate sip, far more dignified than Dimi thought was possible for her. 

As the flavors mingled and spread through her form, she did feel the impression of something. Afternoon sun landing on a stump where the leaves used to cast shadows. Schoolyard grass being torn and replaced with astroturf. A meeting between someone you knew once, with both sides knowing they have been changed. The final breeze felt in the family home before departing.

It was evocative, it was potent, it was bitter. But,

“Nothing.” She sighed, not knowing if it was the effect of the memoria concoction or her own disappointment.

“Well, I'm a bartender, not a miracle worker. At least do me the honor of finishing it.”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to? I’ve never met a drink I couldn’t beat!” She regained her pep and decided to just shoot the rest of the drink.

“That was real thick though, where’d you get it?”

“Some flashy bigwig wanted a juicy piece of information, and paid handsomely for it. Simple as that.”

“Wait, you’re an information broker?”

“I mean, I’m not going to put a sign on the door anytime soon, but like I said, a bartender listens.”

“How come you’ve never told me!?”

“You’ve never asked. Even the dead need side jobs.”

“Well then you have to know something real big for me, yeah?” Her energy was fully renewed by this new line of inquiry.

“And what makes you think I have to, huh?”

“If it’s important enough that a Hollywood bigwig paid you and well, then you know more than just neighborhood gossip.” Her eyes focused on his in a piercing way. Perhaps in another life, she was a journalist, or interrogator.

“Me and my big mouth…” He whispered, as he averted his gaze. 

The truth weighed on him for a good couple minutes as he busied himself with cleaning her glass, all the while her stare did not waver. Finally, the barrier broke.

“God, fine! Honestly you might be the only person I know tenacious enough to do anything with it. But, don’t expect a miracle.” He set the glass back with all the rest, and turned to face her once more.

She was grinning ear to ear. He leaned in close, even though the bar was empty.

“Word around Hollywood is that there’s this Artifact, not one made by those union junkies, one made by the Storm itself.”

“Is that even possible!?”

“Why not? A lot of plasm, souls, memories, and more get tossed around, has to make something eventually. In this case, it apparently made something strong, a Memoria Catalyst with enough strength to give any Wraith a full, dazzling picture of their life like they had photographic memory.”

“You’re kidding, something like that would’ve been snatched up by the Stars in a millisecond!” Connie flapped. Those who had dazzling and exciting memories to share held a certain level of prestige in Hollywood. Much like Tacoma’s real 1920’s, the art of cinema had given them an edge, allowing them to dress up and spread their memories among the masses, empowered by hundreds of new views on their experiences, even if not 100% accurate.

“Yeah, it’s been all abuzz. But, there’s one problem.”

Connie cocked her head.

“It’s in the Storm. Outside the bounds of Hollywood, far from the shores of the skinlands, and too close to the edge of Oblivion. No one’s been brave enough to go for it, and those stupid enough to try have gotten swept away.”

“Woah, if it’s that precarious, why do you think I have a shot?”

“Because…” He swallowed something invisible to him. “You’re not only the most stubborn Wraith I know, you’ve also got nothing to lose. Nothing to make you turn back before the edge.”

She seemed a bit hurt at his words, and he a bit hurt in response, but it only took her a second to not solemnly, knowing that he was right.

“O’course, I don’t plan on letting you go completely defenseless.” She perked up once more.

“I’ve got a buddy who’s just about scoped out where it is. Now, he’s in no rush to find it himself, but he’s a Diver who can help other people navigate the storm. I’ll hook you up with him, and you should be able to handle the rest yourself.”

“You’re doing a lot for me here, Dimi, whatcha asking for it?” She kept her tone peppy, but the deeply curious bend to her eyebrows were genuine and suspicious.

“Hey, you get all those memories back in crystal-clear definition, and then we’ll talk payment. Just remember me when you’re a movie star, kid.” He returned her gaze, but not before steeling himself first.

The two stared for a minute, but she broke into a chuckle first. “This is crazy, but what the heck! We’re already dead anyways! Sign me up, Dimi!”

The pair shook hands, information, and she was off to the races.

The second the bell on the door stopped ringing after her exit, Dimi’s form crumpled under the weight of his performance, and he held his head in his hands, and began to tap his foot.

Connie never went down to the docks. She couldn’t stand the inky black tide that lapped slowly onto the shore, where going too far would mean Oblivion had its claws in you. Something in her also never liked seeing the phantasmal boats lining the ports, spirits of long-marooned ships manned by those with nowhere else to go.

She never knew why she felt that way. Years ago, she thought it would be the answer to her quest for her memories, but each attempt ended up just as fruitless as the last. But not this one, this attempt was to be her greatest yet. It wasn’t going to fail.

It couldn’t.

It wasn’t hard to find the man she was looking for, few Wraiths willingly looked out into the void that called them to their truest end, and fewer yet did it with a look of boredom on their face.

“‘Scuse me, are you the Diver?” From the way Dimi talked, Connie was sure that “real” names were not going to be a point of conversation here.

“And you must be the bartender’s brat. Let’s make this quick, it’s better to not draw any attention. Put these on.” An old deep diving suit was tossed in front of her.

“So, is it gonna work like a real one?”

“Less questions, more moving.”

“Alright, alright! Sue me for wanting some assurance!” She complained as she began to step into the suit.

The diver rolled his eyes and lit a pipe. “The material is soulforged and sturdily made. You’ll get a good flow of Hollywood right into you, so you’ll keep your wits, and the space between you and the suit won’t get fucked up by the Storm outside. But if you aren’t careful and get any cuts? That’s on you.”

“Right…” She looked down at the lonely pearl on her thin necklace. “Suppose I should leave this here for safe keeping?”

“No, take it. You’ll need it more than I do.”

“Okay, so what do I do when I, uh, ‘reach the end’ so to speak?”

“Anything happens, you tug on this tether,” he gestured to the line tied between the spine of the suit and the dock itself. “And you get pulled back faster than you can blink. No more questions.”

“Wait wait wait, I was told you mapped it out, where am I going?”

The diver took it into his own hands to clang on the diving helmet, and made sure it was locked in place. “Move forward and stay focused, and you’ll find the way.”

“Is that inspirational or literal?”

“Literal, I don’t care how you feel about it, I just get my cut.”

A part of Connie wanted to question more, just to be funny, but she found herself being turned around, facing the darkness of the waters.

“Remember, move forward, stay focused, and tug on the line when you’re good and done.”

Without another word, the Diver shoved her forward, gently but with an arcane force that shunted her miles in a second, until she was sailing over the water towards the liminal veil that separated Hollywood from the storm outside it.

She had always wondered what that barrier felt like. A solid wall? A gelatin mesh? An air pocket? She didn’t expect it to feel like nothing, to merely have light and sight one second and pitch-black darkness the next.

She tried to look back towards Hollywood, thinking perhaps it would look like Earth from space, but it took less than a second for the roil of the storm to block her vision of it entirely. With the force of the push ended, she found she could “stand” within the darkness, although the winds of the tempest were already buffeting her.

As she heard the scream of the roil, the howling of speed and souls alike, she felt her first urge to turn back. But, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and so she heeded the Diver’s words and moved forward, staying focused.

Time was already hard to track in Hollywood, day and night were more of a feeling than a hard rule, and clocks really just set themselves where they wanted to be. It was even harder out here, where there wasn’t any environmental indication. Connie only knew she felt like it had been hours.

“With how strong the winds are, I could be making no progress at all…not that I have a marker or nothin’. God, this better not be a croc, Dimi!” She shouted to the void, although hearing it echo within the diving suit just makes her feel lonelier than before.

“Ugh, get a hold of yourself Linh, this is no time to fret!” She said, before freezing in shock. “Wait, Linh? That…that’s my name!” Linh said to herself.

For the first time since she awoke as a Wraith, a memory flashed back into Linh’s mind. It wasn’t complex, or emotionally resonant, it was merely the signing of a marriage certificate. “梅 貴 靈, Mai Quý Linh, that’s me! Ohoho Dimi is gonna be so jazzed! Wait, I was married? I-Is that my maiden name or my married one? Wait, I'm Vietnamese!?” A million questions began to spawn, but they would not be answered, as another gust of wind would buffet her, causing her to steady herself literally and metaphorically against it.

“Okay, okay, this is fantastic, but I need to keep going. I’ll remember everything once I find the artifact. Ah geez, should I still go by Connie?” 

She pressed onward, the undeterminable time filled by the buzz of potential. She even began to speak in Vietnamese once more, finding that she understood the language perfectly, despite just remembering it. “I mean, it makes sense, it was my native language after all. Still is, I suppose. I wonder, where is this all even coming from?”

Stray pieces of memoria were common in the storm, fragments of spirits long-since torn apart by its winds, but for her own to return to her so clearly, it was uncommon to say the least. Perhaps this too was an effect of the artifact, reaching out to her as she got, ideally, closer.

She took another step, and felt the push of the wind shift. Instead of hitting her on the side, it came from behind now, causing her to stumble as it pushed her forward. As it did, and as the image of her fetter grew hot against her chest, more began to come back.

“Mama,” A rose-cheeked child looked longingly at a mature, refined woman readying herself at a vanity. “Where’d you get that pretty necklace?”

She turned to look. “My pearls? They were a gift from my mother after I got married, and it was given to her from her mother, and so on!” 

“Wow, are you gonna give them to me someday?”

“Of course I will, dear. When you’ve found the perfect match for you.” She ruffled the child's hair, who giggled in response.

“Just like you and daddy!” 

There was a pause, unnoticed by the child. “Yes, of course sweetie, just like me and daddy.”

"AUGH!” Linh clutched her head at the sudden shock of that memory, finding it actually hurting. She hadn’t felt pain in…well, forever as far as she knew. “C’mon, toughen up Linh!”

She began to walk with the pushing of the wind, but it was becoming harder and harder to avoid tripping, to avoid the pain that came with the influx of her memories returning after so many years. “My family…all of our celebrations, and all of the annoyances…my mother’s cooking…my d-dreams, I wanted to be an author…why is this all coming to me now? Why was it all missing from the start!? Why does this hurt so much!?”

Before she could consider this problem further, another flash of memories hit her, potent and painful enough to drive her to her knees.

Her family, what was left of it, was screaming around her. They must separate. It was a heart-wrenching decision to make, but every second counts. She pleaded with an American soldier to take her daughter further than them on a boat leaving sooner. She did her best to prepare her daughter, write down all the information she could possibly need, and promised they’ll meet again. None of it was able to calm her sobs or her screams, as Linh let go of her daughter.

Linh and her husband, Trinh, would successfully escape Vietnam in time and make their way to America, and desperately looked for their daughter with everything they had.

But, the search would never go anywhere. It took three years to find out the refugee ship she was placed on had run afoul of its course, and had been raided by pirates in the water. No one survived, and only the ship itself was evidence.

Three years of anguish, and decades more of regret pierced into her mind with the grace of an ice pick, as she shuddered and wailed, covered by the volatile storm. But still, she dragged herself further. “God, i-it’s unbearable, b-but, this is the past. M-My past! Bad, and good. I have to…I have…I can’t handle this!!”

She desperately tugged on the tether behind her, slowly rising to her feet in the process. But as she stood once more, she didn’t feel any resistance from the other side. In fact, she gave it a mighty yank and found it…loose.

“Wait…wha-” Something rushed at her in the inky void, unseen and moving quickly. In the blink of an eye, a torrent of memoria shrapnel tore off the suits right arm, and Linh’s own along with it. With an agonizing scream that was silenced by the rush, she willed both the ectoplasm of the suit and her own body shut, but the patchwork mending would not hold for long.

This time, an emotion hit her first rather than just a memory. Despondency, hopelessness, and utter despair.

Flashes of years went by, as Linh in life had been rendered to an inactive shell with the knowledge of what she had done. In his own guilt and rage, Trinh would go from an angry and unfaithful man to an abusive one. In her grief, she didn’t wish to protect herself. Each day she would just keep fussing over a house that would never be whole, and pearls that would never be passed down.

Before Linh can regain any of her form, the winds buffet her again, pushing her from the back deeper and deeper into the void. 

Another roaring squall tears through her suit, not with the force to sever limbs this time, but enough to break the protection it provided. Piece by piece, it was torn away, exposing Linh fully to the storm of memories she was now abandoned to.

“If this…is how I lived…” She couldn’t help but wonder.

“Then how did I die?”

Rain beat down relentlessly on city streets, as Linh did her best to remain dry in her ramshackle defenses. She had nothing anymore, except for the pearls she massaged between her dirty, wrinkled hands, mumbling nothingness to herself.

It had been years since Trinh kicked her out, finally replacing her with his latest mistress. She didn’t have the fire in herself to fight, and so she left. But she had no family to lean on, no friends to count on, and she couldn’t even depend on herself.

No job would hire her, and what few did wouldn’t keep her for long, as chronic fatigue, despondency, and apathy mired her every waking moment. Resource programs would either find her unqualified, give only meager assistance, or pass the time and do nothing at all afterwards.

She was abandoned, alone, with no home or money, living each day already a ghost. She wanted to die, to reunite with her daughter, whose name she had lost already, but she didn’t feel she earned the right to kill herself, to go easily into that dark night when she had sent her daughter to her own early end.

But on this night, her prayers would be answered. She was broken from her stupor at the glint of a switchblade, a nervous man as ragged looking as herself stood above her, eyes wide and wild. “Give me those pearls, and nothing bad happens.”

She stayed silent, and turned away, exposing her back while clutching the pearls closer. 

“C’mon you old coot!” He tried to tear her arms open, but she locked them in like an iron safe. “A corpse is worthless, just hand them over!” He cut at her arms to try and make her break, and she certainly yelped, but did not waver.

“Day in and day out you’re just constantly showing off those damn pearls, well stop being so stubborn and hand them over! I’ll get some good cash out of it, and you can fuck off!” He was kicking at her legs now. His threats were real, but he clearly didn’t have the guts to murder an old woman.

When his kicks hit enough times to break her knee, she howled in pain, and her grip loosened just enough for him to grab part of the pearls, but she kept just as tight a grip on the other end.

“No! No! These are for Khánh! THESE ARE FOR KHÁNH!” She yelled in Vietnamese. Yes, she remembered, it was Khánh who she loved, Khánh who she lost, Khánh she would pass on these pearls to, in this life or next.

“Goddammit you old bat, just LET GO!” He finally went for a stab. He had aimed his knife at her left shoulder, the arm still hanging on, and stabbed downward as he had been standing over her sitting position. But a slight jostle on her end led the final destination to be the space between her shoulder and her neck, as the knife left a gouge through soft and weak skin.

But still, she did not let go of the necklace. But still, it would do no good. With the strain and stress of both sides seeking to wrench it from the other, along with the violent motion the thief had just undergone, the entire situation snapped.

The thin thread of the necklace gave way, launching a generation of pearls into every direction. With a heartbroken wail, Linh did her best to scramble after them, but between the bleeding and her broken knee, she could only do so much as the thief carefully plucked what he could, pearl by pearl, before running into the night.

She could only lie there and cry, blood, tears, and life slipping into nothingness, as the few pearls that remained were washed away, until all that remained in her hands was a single pearl and the flimsy thread it still hung onto.

This was the pain of Mai Quý Linh’s final moments.

Linh had no idea how long she'd been walking. The storm still raged, but the cutting winds did not slice her as harshly. Her suit was totally gone, lost to the memoria storm, and her ghostly form was reduced to sparse ribbons and the link to her own fetter. 

But, it might’ve been all worth it in the end. She only has one eye left in her torn form, but she can see something bright and glittering ahead of her. As her sight focused, she was beside herself with joy. So much so, that she failed to see her own form beginning to unravel at the bottom.

The form was that of a young girl, sharp eyes and raven haired like her mother, rosy cheeked with a broader nose like her father, sitting and humming peacefully while drawing a picture. She always said she would draw pretty pictures for her mother’s books.

“Khánh! Khánh! Come here, it’s mommy!” She shouted, seemingly gaining her attention. Her daughter beckoned her closer. “Of course, i’ll be right there!” She ran forward at a frantic pace, ignorant to the fact that what remained of her legs unspooled like thread, as her tether was beginning to grow taut behind her.

“I have so much to say to her,” She began to think. “So much to show her! Oh, I’ll have to introduce her to Dimi, she’ll love him!” Her lower body had fully unraveled, and her torso was starting to go. “We have eternity to make up for it, my dear Khánh, and then when we pass on, the next life!” She stretched out her arm as her body spooled out, not even caring when her face began to vanish.

“Khánh!!!” She shouted in joy and tears as she took one final lunge to lay a single finger on her daughter's form.

Before her eye was unspooled as well, and she felt her hand land on nothing.

In that darkness, the last sensory experience she had was the feeling of debris cutting into what remained of her arm.

In that darkness, a body was unspooled into yarn, extending a tether to a small necklace with a single pearl.

In the darkness of the real world, in an alleyway, long-since covered in mud, dirt, and various other refuse, a single pearl snaps in half.

And the last whispers of Mai Quý Linh’s consciousness repeat ad infinitum, as she can no longer do anything but ruminate on her grief.

Finally, that lingering symbol of consciousness reaches where it needed to be, and the line goes fully taut.

The Diver, back on the docks, noticed the rope begin to stretch and strain against its pillar. “Finally, took the broad long enough.”

"Isn’t it lovely?” The greatest Dame in all of Hollywood, Clara Couture, gazed at a diamond as reflective as a mirror in the light of Memento Memoria. “I say, you really aced the job this time, Dimi.” Her wispy, brassy voice was hushed in this moment, but no less powerful and echoing for the lowly man she was speaking to.

“What can I say? I had the right material on hand. You got your jewel, pressurized and cut by the Storm. Now, your end of the deal.” His wry smile could not hide the sweat on his ghostly brow.

The high-class woman smirked the perfect smirk, and chuckled just the right amount. “Fine, fine, you darling old soul. Your debts are squared, and of course if you want to turn this dingy alley bar into something proper, you know you can come to me anytime. Maybe, a classy penthouse cafe! Or something luxurious over the-”

“You know what I want. I told you before.”

There was an air of shocked silence before the dame began to laugh. “Wait, darling you were serious? That is what you want for this?”

“Dead serious.”

She snickered into a cough, and used it to steady herself. “Fine, fine, work your art, I give what you seek willingly.”

Unlike Connie, Gedimias knew far too much about his life. He lived and died an eternally bored and lifeless man, with no true friends or loved ones, with a family who barely cared. But he also had holes in his memory, and he wanted to do anything that would fill that hole. 

He was certain in the gaps of his mind, he would find one key emotion he couldn’t find anywhere else. True Love.

The Dame Couture wasn’t the brightest star of Hollywood for nothing, she lived a colorful and dramatic life, with all the ups and downs of the most captivating celebrity. The movies made from her memories left every audience fulfilled, and made her own Memoria intensely powerful. If anyone could help him find the Love he felt he lost, it would be her.

“Do enjoy your little draught darling, I hope it was worth the cost.” She cackled. “Oh, and be sure to come see the next show, I plan to make it dripping with this potent Regret.” She flashed the diamond one last time, and closed the door.

Steeling himself, the bartender took a swig.

That would be the last night Memento Memoria would be open for business. From that night onward, Gedimias would spend each memory, each moment, trying desperately to forget what he had learned, until the day his darkest self came to drag him into nothingness.

For he had no love in life, just as he had feared, and throughout his unlife, he failed to consider that his true love would not be romantic, until he threw her to the wolves.