"The only only thing worth doing in the face of death is smiling.''
Alpheo turned those words over in his mind, feeling the hollowness of them. He didn't believe it, not for a heartbeat.
It was the natural prerogative of a man to tremble before the void. Yet, he found himself contemplating that man's end nearly every morning when the grey light hit his chamber walls.
"I once knew a man who died for a noble cause," Alpheo began, his voice dropping into a somber, gravelly cadence that seemed to pull the warmth from the very fire. "A sacrifice, they called it. He was a creature of boundless energy, a care-free spirit who wore the world like a loose-fitting garment.
I envied him for it. I envied his ability to live without the leaden weight of consequence. He died with a joke and a smile at the expense of his executioners. People called it a 'good death.' If such a thing exists, perhaps that was it, one life bartered to purchase the survival of many."
