We thought we felt guilty, but we were only being gloomy. Greeting each other politely in the morning; sharing our meals in an oval-shaped dining room; celebrating morbid anniversaries, not being sure if we were the actors or the subjects of our endless mourning.

We were worshippers of yellowing photographs. Twelve portraits of slaughtered women raised as so many icons. With features screening more character and liveliness than their husbands ever would. Beyond the postures, one could see the unpreparedness, the fragility and the tenderness. And the men, hysterical, whining about these things, the things they have done - things that cannot be reversed, nor repaired.

Expectably, during these three years, the stories came, one by one. At the time I wished them to be similar to ours, at least remotely relevant. But they left me puzzled. Twelve stories, different, but the same. Twelve crooked ways leading to an ultimate mess.

Some had loved their women, and some had hated them. Some had killed them fast, and some had killed them slow. And then, there were those who genuinely felt remorse, and those who were pretending.

Haupthof was forever. Living in the past, we all had our fetishes. Some rooms were stacked with souvenirs and personal belongings of the late wife, some others, like mine, deprived from trophees but haunted by thwarted visions and spectral memories...

We had rampaged magical continents, and then studied our booty. We tried to solve the riddles of the pillaged artifacts, but they were just staring back at us with empty orbs, saying nothing at all. Sometimes, I had the premonition that time would come to pursue their promises, make their hidden prophecies come true... But in the meantime we all were equally dying from slow decay in a luxurious setting indeed. With little to hold on to.

Every now and then, prostitutes were brought to Haupthof so as to distract us from our solitude. Last December, you were here, but at the time I didn’t know it was you. After dinner, we sat in the lounge. Beer and cocktails flowing incessantly, the atmosphere heating up, urging for sex.