A gift for the rich Noblemen.

[Kenyon Ahearn]

The world was still, the people of Britain slept well, a shadowy figured watched them with a sickly grin. Through the window was a man, mid forties and quite wealthy. The figured looked closer, his nose pressed against the glass, inside goblets of gold, tapestries of velvet and rare lace, once again a dark and grim smile blessed the observers face. “Calamity Lues” he whispered… the room grew dark, the man awoke, choking on his own bile and vomit. The figure, with a sick look of amusement, watched the man writhe and curl up, slowly, in agony, dying.

He whispered;

“A gift… from my Father.”