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I knoweth I have doneth wrong. Doneth terrible wrong! My tippy-toes into temptation leaveth me bleached with the stench of dishonour, desertion and foolishness.

When modernest peasants are caused to sin, they are told, “Everyone maketh mistakes”, or, “You are only human”. I turneth to the urchin Hood, and seeketh comfort.

“Whoever loses happiness and comfort because of his own wrongs should hate himself to death,” quoth he, looking coldly into my eyes. Alack! Woe the day! Self-murder ist my only path! I breathe a hopeless breath.

Hood and I discusseth how best to do it.

Lancelot didst attempt to impale himself upon his own sword. I tryeth this, but it really hurts so I stoppeth. I could die honourably in a dual to winnest a fair maid’s heart? But nobody fighteth for love these days.

It ist here that Hood pings awake, a strange shadow upon his visage, “I could help you,” he suggests. “I could push you.”

We arriveth at Vertigo. Tucked away in the land of Coming Soons, ‘tis surely a place of sufficient lankiness to plungeth to death.

I scratteth around the place to find an exit point. One largerth room brancheth out to two smaller rooms. One a lush crimson couch with sublimeth full-sized American pool table (room rental from $6,000), the other an exclusive deep red and black lace whoopy-room with a very long chez-long (room rental from $10,000). I’faith, ‘tis like residing within a pair of maiden’s sauciest knick-knacks. 

‘Tis posh, ‘tis dark, ‘tis moody. I careth not.

I maketh my way up, and atop the building. ‘Tis time.

I standeth, breathless, the world below me and the wind whipping my sweat-clotted curls. I struggle for balance. Below me, modest, mild dwarf-buildings squateth, awaiting their execution, some day soon. Behind me standeth Hood, licking his lips.

“Goodbye world!” Wind thrums my ears. “God, forgive me!” I closeth my eyes. “Hood!” I cry, giving him the signal, with which he pushes me from the precipice, into darkness.

Yet…I am suddenly still… motionless above the earth… floating through the silence of the night. I rotate to see Hood’s mystified face, at the very place from whence I only moments ago fell. I hoverest back to this same spot, Hood cowering into a shadow, his mystification now closer to fear.

I am laid down with the gentlest grace, and before my eyes appears a sight of such indescribable somethingness, that my heart stoppeth beating in my chesticle.

Three golden Nymphs, whose faces I know not, flutter before me. They turneth to Hood, with faces like thunder. His fear is palpable, and golden waters tricklest from his leg-sleeve. The three glistening Nymphs encircle him, and begin, ever faster, flying about him, enshrining him in a torrent of hot lightgold. His face reddens, his black eyes dartest about like those of a madman, and within moments he melts into a stream of blackest dust, and dissolves into the night sky. The Nymphs fly towardeth me.

“Is it really you? The brave, valiant Sir Humby, sent to save us?” singeth one, examining my face with joy. “We heard on the wind that you were seeking us!” singeth another. “Hood was a Spirit-fiend sent by Sir Baggot of Stoke to kill you. We came to save you. To save you from falling.”

Vertigo Ultralounge, 26/F, QRE Plaza, 202 Queen's Road East, Wan Chai, 2575 8980; www.vertigohk.com.