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Jack knew a hall like that existed. His shoulders heaved heavily from the fight with Oswald. Slightly out of breath he ran through the now barren Baskerville halls. The place he was seeking was like a sanctuary amongst the escalating massacre. He could almost hear the holy choir singing their requiem, lamenting the souls of the innocent lost to the silver sword wielded by the crimson reaper. Jack understood their lament well but this was a ritual for his lament, his mourning piece for the one he loved the most.
In this sacred place his being reverberated in anticipation of a brief reunion. A line of portraits was displayed in a row, depicting the elusive Baskervilles. At the end of the long string of paintings was their scarlet princess framed in gold. Yet the gold seemed dull compared to her luster. Jack drew nearer almost hesitantly knowing fully the weight of his sins. The portrait displayed Lacie with her favorite rabbit, in a white room which had been accentuated by the red ribbons draped around the scenery. She was surrounded by violet lilacs and pure white lilies.
Jack found the arrangement of flowers to be perfect, they complimented her beautifully. He has always thought that all the roses in Vessalius garden would wither away in envy before her beauty. But lilacs and lilies were not so vain as roses. She overshadowed them but the humble flora didn't mind. She was more sublime than Mona Lisa. Her lovely raven locks framed her form, contrasting her porcelain skin and her eyes; red as blood... Blood essence of life... Lacie essence of him... Blood- first sign of death. When blood is drawn death is near and the reason for all this death was her.
Jack felt a fever rise on his face standing before her grace and splendor. Elegant brush strokes that captured every curve of her face and every crease of her purple gown. Each line glistened in texture which revived her enchanting presence. The delicate motion in which she was fashioned made him come alight in ecstasy. Jack's hand gently caressed her hand. He let out a sweet moan and then felt passion's yearning ache pierce through his entire being.
"Ah Lacie..."
He whispered, feeling his own hot, bated breath. But if he hadn't exhaled the pain would have made his legs quiver, throwing him thus on the floor. He had heard of men kneeling before works of art glorifying God. Is this how that felt like? He wanted to kneel but he didn't want to be far away from her again.
He was jealous of all the angels in God's heaven who shared her feathered bed right now. Leaving him in this mortal coil to sin and suffer. If he could ascend by pleading before her here he'd take that chance quicker than his own quickened heart could beat.
Her lofty gaze was cast downwards like it was stealing glances at Jack. Did she admonish him or praise him? He wondered as he was smeared in blood. His beloved muse inspired his every act. Like he was Euripidies weaving the tragedy and she was his Melphomene. She stirred his entire being into a frenzy. Like the most beautiful painting; the loveliest poem, the sweetest song...
Those eyes that had forsaken her from this world he will paint the halls of Baskervilles in their color in her honor. Perhaps maybe then he'll be able to repent? Maybe then he'll be forgiven? He wanted his beloved songstress to sing once again. But the picture would now as before remain silent forevermore.