Epilogue

William Holland closed his book. He had heard his father beckoning him, saying something about his favourite author being on the TV. He got up, sprinting in long happy strides, towards the sofa on which his father sat. He looked intently towards the TV, wishing for some news of a new 'The land of the Paladin' book releasing soon. Instead, he was greeted by a coloured video. In it, the fan attached to the ceiling spun, ever so slightly, offset by the weight below it. James Thompson was in the middle of the video, swaying in a dance-like movement. His legs swayed the most, accompanied by his arms. Yet his face stayed stationary, for the most part. It was tilted to James' right, and the cameras left, and bloody spittle dripped down from the writer's mouth. The blood formed a smile on the right side of his face, that was tilted, which had been facing the camera. But when the body swayed, you could make out a different countenance on the side in the shadows. It was decorated by a frown, even though the mouth and lips were emotionless, the frown was formed by blood dripping down his left chin. But worst of all, worse than his legs and features, was his neck. It was a red-coloured mess, caused by the rope around it. The prevention of blood flow had caused his face to seem colourless, grey and lifeless and boring. But the red colour of his neck completely contrasted his face. As he swayed from left to right, strain marks could be seen on the neck, caused by the tightness of the noose around it.

As Will saw the video, a tear rolled down his cheek and chin, dropping with a thump, to the carpeted floor below. Maybe James was below this tear, below and beyond the deepest bowels of the known earth. Or maybe he was up above, frolicking in bliss and paradise. Or a void awaited him. Or maybe, just maybe, the paladin was right. The very embodiment of James' regret and grief had taken the flawed author to paradise, to a land of fantasy, where imagination and unicorns ran wild on green grass. Someplace where peasants served drinks in little glasses with umbrellas on them, and fanned him for eternity. Wishful thinking, but if the side of James' face facing the camera was a clue, then the smile decorating it, shall only prove to comfort us.