Her eyes snap open in wonder as I slip a small wrapped gift from beneath my travel-worn cloak and yell, "Surprise!" She tears open the present with a peal of laughter to reveal an exotic shell plucked from the sands of a Rathan beach. Wonder washing over her face, she examines the dyed whorls, the same radiant green as her own eyes. My smile turns to a smirk as she wraps her arms around me, burying her head into my chest.

"Check the inscription," I say.

She releases me and turns over the shell, finding in neat, small script the words, "Our souls, intertwined, are inseparable. A bond stronger than the gods themselves." As she reads it, I quickly fall to one knee, pulling a second gift swiftly from the pocket in my cloak. My hands begin to feel clammy, my left beginning to throb as if I hold something extremely hot.

As she looks up, I can see the disbelief in her eyes, the surprise. It is quickly replaced by joy and tears. "Yes," she cries, "of course."

I open my hand to place the ring on her finger, but shock runs through me. It is not there. All I see is a circular burn mark in the center of my palm, angry and fresh.

My eyes snap open. I am still in my bedchamber. I gasp for air, heart thudding in my chest. Disoriented, I realize I am clutching an enruned shell talisman. The circular scar is still there, several years healed. I am not wearing my ring. Panicked, I look about, quickly seeing the familiar faded gold ring sitting on the nightstand next to the knife.

I quickly snatch up the knife, tossing the bedsheets to the floor in my haste and run through the hallways into the cold laboratory. Panting, I still see the five corpses lying undisturbed upon the stone tables, unmoving. Clumsily, I gouge out the eyes of the first corpse, analyzing them, seeing the familiar dark colored iris. I move to the next, the third, the fourth. All eyes the color of dark chocolate.

Nearly out of breath, I stand before the fifth one, hands and bedclothes covered in gore. I tremble, knowing what I will find. I reach out and gently touch the eyelid, carefully pulling it back. The eye, with a perfect emerald iris, stares lifeless at the ceiling.

Beautiful.