"Please, I beg of you, help me." The older man bowed his head, keeping his hands down by his side. Sweat dripped from his nose. His eyes squeezed shut. His brow ends moved with his eyelids that struggled to stay closed.
A woman with clasped hands remained stationary behind the elder man. Her dark purple maid dress stood out against her long crimson nails. Her face was covered by a lengthy lavender lace that hung down.
"Mr. Overshire." Said Toric. "There is a nonrefundable meeting fee even if we don't take your case."
Overshire's eyes shot open. His whole body nearly rocked forward. "Pl-please you have, you have to!" He pressed his head onto the wooden-framed coffee table before him. Spittle that left his mouth decorated the iced glass portion.
"Overshire, why are you coming to me when there is a trained killer behind you?" Toric motioned to the strange maid.
The woman gasped, taking a step back. Her fingernails were placed perfectly on her chest. "Sir, I am no killer."
"You can not fool me. The smell of the Literia flower wafts from you."
Toric's lips curved into a smile; the warm, floral notes evoked a deep sense of contentment and peace. He closed his eyes. "Such sweet memories." His mind slowly thought of a garden.
The woman lunged over the white, floral-patterned couch. One of her hands went straight at Toric's neck.
The maid jumped over Overshire, landing perfectly before Toric.
Overshire scrambled, reaching his hand out. He gasped, making "oh" and "ah" sounds. He struggled to form words for a moment. With a thick swallow, he said, "No, no." Overshire hung his head. "Please, Delia." He urged her. "Usually, I would not stop you."
Toric lifted his chin, giving Delia better access to his throat.
"Going to an outside source. Things like this should be taken care of by in-house means," said Delia. She hesitated, her long nails barely scraping Toric's neck.
"I know. I created you all to have a sense of pride in our legacy's work. But Douglas was one of our best killers. Young, foolish, and arrogant. And that's what got him killed. And that damn old wives' tale," said Overshire.
Delia's lips fluctuated up and down. She pressed her hand forward. "I will find the blue bride myself." Suddenly, her whole body froze. Her mouth slid open. "I can't move." Thin little wires held her in place.
Toric opened his eyes and hunched over. His hands clasped under his chin. A dark blue energy tinged with red seeped from him. "Old wives' tale? blue bride? Do tell."
"When the clock strikes three, the abandoned bride sings." Overshire's eyes studied the brown-haired, red-eyed man who was now slightly skewed from his vision.
Overshire slowly continued. "On the handles of the clock, place your bet. The bride shall come out to play. Like a ghost, she wavers in. No sound, no object can phase her. Try as you might to face the bride. She shall claim her spouse in all their glory. So never wager on the clock. Now, please release Delia." Overshire bowed.
Toric smiled. "Interesting."