For a dwarf his sense of self was oversized, outrageous. As
well he knew; worked hard at even. And, like a castrato I once had as lover –
an outstanding Prince Orlofsky! – he was not lacking in the most important
attributes. Nor did his skills present as ostentatious; there was no sense of
shortcomings being compensated for.
Which, perhaps, explains why I so regretted my own failure of
perfection when he took my hand and, not exactly sorrowfully, said, ‘Ah, Eve,
time to say good-bye. I’ll not be seeing you again,’
My aim overcompensated; I shot him right between the
eyes.
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