It was all chaos and he stood at the top of the city skyscraper, windows open, curtains swaying, watching it all like the conductor of death.

The requiem, he called it, a requiem for a fallen comrade. The Troupe was bringing chaos under his command.

It was oddly peaceful, with you beside him. His arm around your waist. Eyes on the city.

“My beautiful love,” he said, voice soft and smooth, “I wish to never have to bring chaos for your loss. Stay alive, stay alive longer than me.”