Red
Red.
She’d always worn red.
It suited her.
John Sheppard really couldn’t imagine her in any other color.
He didn’t have to.
Flashes of crimson filled his dreams often, and they couldn’t be denied.
A loose fold of fabric here, then a tightly covered curve there.
But always red.
Lately, more than ever before.
There was no getting her back.
Even her duplicate had worn red. Even with his Elizabeth gone he could not escape it.
So he didn’t fight it.
As another type of red filled his vision, he embraced it.
And then, finally, it was red no more.
The End
