She holds the golden sphere in the palm of her hand. It glows, warm with all that remains of him. She has him now, resting in the palm of her hand. His soul, trapped. He in her power; not she in his.
Revenge is sweet, she thinks.
She curls her fingers and feels the sphere pulsate. She turns and walks the few steps to the bridge. Leaning on the rail, she watches the greasy, grey river flow beneath her.
She tosses the sphere in the air and catches it. Tosses again; lets it fall.
Goodbye traitorous heart, she whispers.
Written in response to The Aether Prompt: May 22nd, 2019