it's burning through the bloodline { ryan/sylvia ; blitz }

Sylvia Summit.

Correction: Sylvia fucking Summit.

I've never known anyone quite like her. From the way that she drinks her wine to the way she snaps like a twig. There is no joy that she brings, only devastation. She is the eye of the Summit storm but fails to realise.

In my hand, sits a crystal glass filled with wine. A poison I'd given into and become addicted to, making my breath warm and my tongue like fire. It allows me to flourish and emerge from the shadows and show that I am eternally ablaze.

I catch Sylvia's eyes and arch a brow as I watch her expression drop. It was no secret she hated us all. She is our downfall -- the fact that her blood runs through my veins makes me want to die, just so her life isn't flowing in me. 

Her fractured mind sits pretty. The unpleasantness and disgust is masked by the face of a killer Queen. Plagued with hatred and rudeness, she is a wound and I'm ready to pour my salt into her.

"Another one of the scars on the family tree - the stray Summit.

There goes my pleasant evening, straight to hell, where most of your kind belong."

I scoff.

"If you really want to know about mistakes to the Summit name, ask your parents.

They produced one in you."

I am a warrior ready to wage war on my heritage.

She laughs and I raise a brow. She has a witches cackle to contrast her pretty face, a face so pretty she'd be perfect working in radio.

"The same could be said for you, Stray Summit. I would ask your parents, but they're so fucking irrelevant that I don't quite remember their names."

All she seems to bring to the playing table is irrelevancy. Of course, she'd be a genius on this topic considering how irrelevant she is. 

"Such a shame, too."

I grab my wine and sip through it as she speaks, making it clear I don't give a fuck about what she's saying. 

"You have potential for the makings of a true Summit - if only you weren't, well, you."

My gaze stares at her empty eyes as I spin the wine glass around between my fingers. She deserves no sympathy, no mercy, for she is to blame for this dysfunctional mess of a family. 

"You speak like you are relevant, Sylvia."

Red lips with red hair, she acts like she has danced with the devil. Her touch is a poison of it's own, it can start a chain reaction and taint all who are within her reach. 

"The truth is, you're about as relevant as amoebas on fleas on rats."

Perhaps I do hold a droplet of sympathy for her. An old girl with an old brain. It's probably infested with maggots and has turned rotten with her thinking. From the way she talks, she probably only has two brain cells left anyway.

And they're most likely in a coma.

"If I am so irrelevant," the dog growls, "why does this quarrel rage on? Your words say one thing, but your actions say another."

"Because someone has to take the fucking trash out."

The grip around my glass tightens as I stare at her dead in the eye. If no one cared, I'd throttle her right now and make a jumper from her hair, but it's too much fun to feed off her ego.

I blink and raise my wine glass into the eye and splash the wine over her. She becomes a stain emphasised by the red liquid, and it makes me chuckle. Immediately, I drop the glass on the ground and clench my jaw. 

There was something seemingly satisfying about making someone else look bad, whether it be by use of physical methods or from insults. It is what I thrive on, and as I turn my back on her to stare at a picture on the wall, a devilish smirk wipes itself across my face.

Glancing over my shoulder, I look at her.

"You're an embarrassment to our bloodline."

"How fucking you dare you, you mutt!" She shrieks.

I keep my back to her, not wanting to catch a glimpse of the face that is the root of all our problems. I could sense a tone of bitterness in her voice, but then that was normal for her since it was all she knew.

"Darling, I made the Summit bloodline."

"It's not something to be proud of, Sylvia."

My eyes flicker around the room. I catch a glimpse of the red wine on the carpet as I gaze at the cracking white walls of the living room. Every kind of wall seemed to crumble to pieces under our reign, even the ones I'd set up in my mind to keep the demons at bay.

They'd got out though, they had a tendency to do so. I'm just glad they came out at a convenient time.

I set my eyes on a plant growing by the windowsill. It's struggling too, I can tell by the way the colours are mismatched and the leaves are dry. It stills looks beautiful to me, though, and so I gesture towards it with my left hand.

"Don't you love nature, despite what it did to you?"

"No, it is not- you are not, Eunice is not, the other little stains are not. But the kingdom itself is mighty and old. That is where the pride comes from."

Old kingdoms were a home to brittle defences. Armed with sticks and stones, they'd turn to cannonballs in the sky and tear down the remnants of my security. Traditional values and beliefs meant a dying mind, hierarchy had to crumble and fall soon.

And Sylvia's words open the gate for the soldiers to pillage villages and cause chaos and disorder amongst the state. Tragedy after tragedy, her actions were that of a failing Queen with a china crown—it would not take much to see her grace lie in beautiful ruins.

"Yes, I quite adore nature: it made me a queen, and it made you dust."

She goes for her wine, her eyelashes threatening to jump as she blinks hundreds of times in space of an ice cold. sharp and slight, second.

"I'm dust. Always and forever, I'm dust. You're right, for once Sylvia." Hard inhalations of war waged, exhalations like golden bullets from a charcoal gun. "You're right."