Love Unending

         Of course she had moved on. He’d been dead for well over a year now, and her life had returned to normal. She was modeling again, and she was everywhere: magazines, runways, talk shows.
         The scars of his love had finally healed and gone: the black eyes, the bruised skin, the broken bones. His violent desire and the blackness of his passion existed only in her nightmares.
         Yes, she had moved on.
         But he hadn’t. His spirit followed her, watched her, pined for her. He planned and plotted.
         He would have her and she would be his.
         Forever.