...are the Devil's workshop

"Lucy! Lucy!" shouted Rupert. He was walking up and down the house , saying her name as a mantra.
She was totally confused. Scared. Why couldn't Rupert see her? It was true, then. She had become a ghost in her own fetish. In her own mind? If it wasn't so frightening she would be utterly scandalised. Expelled from her own... what? whatever! But expelled anyway!
Yes, memories can warm you on cold and lonely nights, but nothing stands a comparison with real life. Fantasy life. Whatever.

Sometimes Lucy missed the days of gambling. Lately it seemed bolder having Rupert than having lots of lost bets on the 2 of hearts.
.

Idle hands...

You know what?
The fight is lost. I have lost.
Who the hell wins?
Doesn't matter.
But I've lost.
I've been gambling all my way around.
The dice betrayed me, the cards mocked me.
I had hope. Bold, blind hope.
Hope for nothing.
Hope for the gambler's dream.
The hand that changes your whole life.
But it never comes.
And you bet your house, your life, your soul.
And you lose.
Who wins?
Whoever.
I'm done.

"Lucy!" shouted Rupert "Where are you?"
"In the kitchen, my love, writing my goodbye note."
.