depiction of death and injury ⭄ ivy&arwen

A R W E N MORTUUS ;

BOY REAPER

"Well," he chooses his next words kindly, "that was silly." 

When he bore witness, he fantasized about what drove his sister to kill herself so. Egomaniac that is he - he knew it was because of him, a bit of him taking pride in the monster he had become in her world. Long she ran from it, the truth of what happens in the cellar labyrinth the young doctor had become well accustomed to. It was euphoric in a sense, the relief that came along with shedding your skin and showing the guts of your evil core. Arwen held his facades closer than he did his family, never before had Ivy looked at him so clearly. 

A seventy two year old woman bleeds from her eyes and mouth, the needle still hot in his hands. Why did he hold onto it? There was nothing as intriguing as the process of death; if anything, you would imagine he would volunteer before his sister ever would. Fickle is fate, she sees him standing over a dying woman and runs all the same. 

Runs straight into the labyrinth.

He would mourn when he harvests her, until then she was still his twin sister. It's a shame, now that she's finally given up, he won't get a chance to see who she really is. She'll go and she'll kill and she'll see there was never a reason to run, not really, in fact, she could have enjoyed it all along. Maybe she was made just as he was after all, killers from the start.

"I will say, I am impressed, Ivy," as much as he'll miss her once she's gone. Just he and four cousins and two aunts that he avoided at all costs, and all the bodies in between. "I never thought you had it in you, maybe we are still twins after all."