He sat with the freshly opened bottle of wine on the counter at his side and the two glasses in hand. The tick of the old grandfather clock echoed with each passing minute. The freshly plucked rose petals led from the door to his left and disappeared up the staircase. The fire danced, it was the only light in the room with the exception of the racing Christmas lights of the newly decorated tree. Mistletoe hung from the doorway, as he waited to taste his favorite poison, his love's lips.