At Sixty-Five, Waltz wasn't, particularly an old man. Sure, he had the tinge of his once brown hair starting to show signs of greying and the odd wrinkle or few starting to crack through his skin, but he wasn't old. At heart, Waltz felt like he still had the stamina of his much younger self, he continued to push himself to the brink until he felt his body shake as it begged to feel old age.

Waltz sighed as he sat down in his home office, he stared at his closed laptop lid. He sighed as he noticed dust had started to gather over it, his green eyes looked around his home office.

Two full bookshelves filled with various sized notebooks, various folders which held all his inner workings of his research and world building. His eyes stopped on one of the bookshelves, studying the spines of the books that haunted him, the books that he had spent his life writing, books that he had once felt proud to hit bookshelves around the world. The author copies of all forty books his written, each holding a core memory of his real life as it's base for the fictional world he had created.

His eyes struggled to hold themselves on Daddy, the story he had written with inspiration from his daughter; his now twenty-eight year old daughter, his only child. Daddy was almost a public apology to the way he treated his daughter or at least the way she believed he treated her. Waltz had let his daughter walk away from him without putting up a fight to retain her close to him, that should've been the first sign for him to notice his family was starting to fall apart. Maybe it didn't help with how Daddy ended, a father murdering his own daughter.

His eyes dropped down to the last story he had published, He loved her once. He loved her once, a story that had cost him his marriage, the story he had spent a better part of three years researching, a story that had been the reason his wife was scared of him, a story that had blinded him on how much he had talked about the harm of women.

Waltz dropped his eyes down on his laptop, his hands fumbled with the laptop lid as he pressed it up. He worked up the courage to turn on his laptop before leaning back slightly in his chair.

He sighed as he sat in silence.

The silence he was going to have to get used to.

Waltz reached his hands forward; his fingers gently tapped the keyboard as he typed in his laptop password Treasure. He closed his eyes for a moment, he realised he would have to change it now. Treasure was no longer his treasure; Treasure was the one who had broken his heart earlier that morning.

He worked up the courage to click on the word document icon before leaning back in his chair. He stared at the home screen of the word document, he knew he needed to write something new, but his mind had been fried from heartbreak that he wasn't sure what to write or where to start.

Waltz let his fingers slide around the mouse of his laptop, he clicked open the story manuscript template before staring at the blank pages that felt like they were taunting him.

He bravely breathed out his heartbreak as his fingers tapped the keys of the laptop.

Veronica sat down on the.

He backspaced the sentence.

A legging red head slutted her way.

"What the fuck?" Waltz groaned at his own words, he leaned back in his chair again as he looked at his poorly written sentence "Slutted her way? What does that even mean?"

Waltz backspaced the sentence again.

Her red hair curled around her face as she looked around the crowd.

That was a start, something was coming from his heartbreak.

The crowd was full of titillating fun.

"I give up." Waltz slammed down his laptop screen, he instantly regretted his action as he pulled open his laptop again. He stared at the screen as it blinked back on, he was thankful that the screen hadn't cracked from his frustrations.

He allowed the laptop screen to haunt him, taunt him as he stared at his reflection.