The Dark lord looked down upon the prone body laying on the slab of black marble before him.
He smiles a slow malicious smile. Thin white lips spread wide across the face like an albino slug hunting for that last dandy lion leaf of the year.
It’s not pretty but the meaning is not lost on the crowd of acolytes crowding around the little scene. They smile, relief suddenly flowing into them like a fine Cote du Rhone following rare fillet steak. Some whimper and hold other tight, afraid to show too much emotion. Has the Dark lord Finished yet, they wonder.
Sweat drips from the face of the Dark Lord, peppering the now still figure laid before the Lord of Formula one. Finally he has his vengeance, oh they may have made him retreat to the shadows but his minion The Toad would be a safe pair of hands for the Dark Lord. But he has had his vengeance on the one he called a Looney, the leader of those little oiks that had dragged his Beloved Ferrari away from him. They had whispered into the ear of Montezemolo and promised to keep the Italian in sharp suits and comfy shoes.
But they would return. Once The Toad was in place they would see the error of their ways and return to the fold. Oh yes …..
Meanwhile he had their ringleader lying prostrate on his table of fun. Oh the Joy
A short ugly dwarf approaches the gathered crowd. His features twisted into what amounts to a smile. People have commented that he has the face only a mother could love, or someone wanting lots and lots of power and money.
The Dwarf looks up at The Dark lord, “Alright Guv’ner .. ‘ave you finish with fatty yet ? Only Piquet Snr wants to have a go next.”
The Dark Lord turns and regards his most trusted minion, he smiles again. “Yes, this poor … fool …. Will never set foot at a Formula 1 event as long has he breaths the air of this earth. He will never lead another poor young soul into temptation … and he shall never steal the heart of my Beloved Ferrari from me again mmmmwwhaAHHAHAHAHAHAHAA”
The dark lord turns and stumbles to the little shine in the corner of the tower, he falls to his knees, the acolytes crawl after him. “WHY, WHY, WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME nooooooooooo why why why !” If he had not has his tear ducts removed, he would cry as he cradles the little corgi cars of the Beloved Ferrari Shrine. “Did I not give you everything? Championship! Drivers! … the best of everything and you leave me for HIM?” he turns and stares at the figure on the table of fun. “What did He have that I ….. THE DARK LORD …… could not give you …… ?“
He breaks down, dry sobs wracking his thin body.
He reaches for the signed picture of Enzo and cradles it to his breast. “They will return Master, oh yes I vow they will return to me my master”