A Fool and His Money prompt from The Flame
She watches from the mountain far in the west. Her eyes are sharp and the distance means nothing.
He celebrates coming of age and the great fortune he has inherited. Friends from all over celebrate with him. A blonde sits on his knee smiling that million dollar smile. Her left hand will soon be heavy with a ring to match it. The drinks are on him - champagne, fine wines and expensive whisky. He pays to party.
She watches from the treetops in the forest at the edge of town. Her eyes are sharp and the darkness does not bother her.
He drives his fast car with wife number two in the seat beside him. A brunette. Her new million dollar smile, which he paid for, glitters behind pink lips. They are just back from their six-month-long honeymoon on his private island. Many of their friends cheer as he manoeuvres the shiny red car up his driveway. Another party.
She watches from the tallest building, in the centre of the city. Her eyes are sharp and the fast-paced town is unnaturally quiet around her.
He sits back on his luscious leather chair and sees wife number three ordering the maid around. The red hair is real but everything else was paid for by the credit card he gave her. She is leaving him. He invited his friends round but they all had other plans. There is no party tonight.
She watches from outside his window. Her eyes are sharp and she waits for the right moment.
He is old and broken. There are no friends around to comfort him. His expensive things are gone. He has only two pennies and he knows what they must be kept for.
She watches from the doorway. Her eyes are sharp and she sees the broken man as he falls to his knees before her. She listens to his weeping. The sight of her before them often reduces formally proud men to tears. She says nothing. A hand slips out from the folds of her dark robes, and she observes the man carefully placing two coins into her palm.
He lets out a great sigh and the tears stop. He stands and watches as the cloaked woman walks back through his doorway. She turns and reaches out her palm again. This time it is not money that should be placed in it. The old man walks forwards and slips his hand into hers.
The Lady of Death is not interested in the stories of her captives. She does not care if she is claiming the soul of a rich man or a poor man. All she requires is two pennies to pay her ferryman as she takes them away.