He needs watching, that Sethaliss, 

so that’s what I do.

 

Lurking in the shadows of the funeral

parlour (I’m his chief undertaker),

keeping my wicked eye on everything

he does. Dressing up in red robes of

silk like his trained Assassins, just

to annoy him. Maybe it’s a perverted

type of pleasure, riling Sethaliss.

Like goading the devil when he’s fast

asleep; when he doesn’t even know I’m

doing it, because he’s too busy

preening that ridiculous vanity of

his in the mirror.