As she approached his grave, Lady Fortuna clutched the letter as tight as she possibly could. It had been ten years since her husband died a tragic death at her hands, a secret that she intended to carry to her own grave some day.
She knelt in front of the tombstone, dirtying her gown. She sat staring down at a small flower that was growing from where her departed husband's body would be, probably decayed and skeletal now. She looked up from the blossoming flower, the only one in the entirety of the cemetery, and gasped. The spirit of her husband was forming from a mixture of red and blue spiritual fragments, the red flames symbolizing the anger that his spirit carried as he wandered the Earth as all murder victims whose killers escape punishment do.
When he came to be complete, he met her cold and emotionless stare with anger and indignation, "What do you want?" He inquired. His widow turned her head away, shamed to look at the spirit of her husband and know that it was her who caused his soul to turn bitter and cold. "I... I came to deliver this to you. I wrote this ten years ago, the night of your... your muder." She handed him the note and, as if he were solid, he managed to hold it. "It's... my confession." As he read the words on the paper, his face calmed, and his spirit was at last able to rest in peace. "Thank you," he told her as his spirit began to dissolve, "for finally setting me free."
As she left the cemetery, Lady Fortuna looked back at her husband's grave solumnly one last time and whispered to herself, "I'm finally baring the burden for my crimes. Goodnight, my love." When she turned back to the cobblestone road ahead of her, a policeman and his carriage were waiting. "I'm ready," she muttered, "to face my punishment." She crawled into the carriage, prepared to face the time in prison she faced for the murder of her husband.
