They should be, and I should be among them. Death is the warm embrace, and life the cold, empty void.

[ Melodrama is what he’s good at, clearly. It’s apparent as he heaves a deep sigh, running a finger along the rim of his depressingly empty glass. He’s more than likely to beg for more wine before the night is over with, despite his empty pockets. That’s just how the cycle goes. Whether or not he’s realized that it’s a cycle has yet to be determined. ]

I’ll regret nothing in the morning, save for not having one more glass of wine.