Or...

Perhaps this was not the case. Perhaps this man had taken flight, flight from authorities who were beyond his control, flight from the responsibilities of actions that had caused this woman to no longer be in possession of her ring. In that, it may be that his yearning, desire, or love--which ever seems best suited--was unwelcome, entirely unwanted and supremely in error. His actions may have caused this self-imposed exile, or perhaps it was only his thoughts that had sent him into hiding and desolation.

Whatever the case, he was here now, alone in entirety...except for the presence of other forces. Forces that lacked all tangible evidence of existence, forces that were meant as judge, jury, or only executioner.

His mouth drew down on one side only, apparently in a grimace of pain...ah no, it was an attempt at speech, or a form of it. However, instead of voice, there came guttural sounds and grunts, low moans and clicks in the throat; accompanied by a thin line of spittle which now leaked from the downward portion of his mouth.

The intangible forces had been working their skills on this figure, apparently for long enough to achieve the desired effect, for after this effort of sound the body seemed to spasm and arch. His head snapped back and rang out a dull thud against the interior wall. The hand slid from atop the knee, sending the ring rolling across the rough floor and down through a floorboard crack, out of sight.

The body slowly slid down the side of the wall, the head cracking against the floorboards. There was no other movement, no other sound...but outside, the calls of birds could now be heard, their dull cries echoing off of the terrain. A gentle snow had begun to fall; it quickly began covering the small cottage, for nature was now done with its punishment and had begun recycling the pawn.

The tiny attempt at fire, its small flame waning, slowly grew more and more dim, until finally it, and its embers, were gone...casting the scene into utter nothingness.