The ogre killed them both and waits.
Staring in space, holding the girl’s head. The ogre waits.
Unable to think, paralysed by fear, caressing the girl’s hair, he waits.
The ogre sits in between two corpses, feeling remorseful of a crime he cannot comprehend. What other choice does he have? So, he waits.
Sadness has invaded the room, filling the ogre with pain.
And while he waits patiently, he leaves his hand on the girl’s body.
What he is waiting for? The ogre.
The ogre can feel the warmth of the young men standing at his feet, his heart still trembling, his voice still echoing in the unbearable silence of the room.
The ogre found a crown and now wears it with sorrow and despair. Feeling emotions reaching his throat, he wonders if he will be able to breathe and he waits.
Suffocating. The ogre does not know what comes next. He does not acknowledge that his head might slip, his hand releasing the girl’s head, the young boy’s warmth turning into cold.
The Ogre – Mammon by George Frederick Watts