Innocence is Bliss [SOUTH]

this is for the girl next door
who thinks she knows me
she adores the way my words feel just like home
but she don't know the sadness flow that pours out nightly
still I keep rolling the lonesome road out before me

I know myself to be a pinnacle of divine superiority, and it’s for that simple reason that I can occasionally deviate into some of the unsavory habits of those who I’ve come to judge with neither exception nor mercy - I will never touch a drop of alcohol, could never let myself stoop to quite that low of a descent from my state of elevation, but simple thievery isn’t beneath me when it suits my purposes, especially when it’s from people that don’t really need the material wealth of which I’m relieving them. Growing up in the gutter, learning to pickpocket is a rite of passage, not unlike the more fortunate children learning to ride a bike or tie their shoes. I still remember Auggie Dahl teaching Lyss and I how to slip someone’s wallet out of their pocket without them feeling a thing, both of us not a day over five years old and wide-eyed at his seeming worldy knowledge. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that my true talent lies in slipping things into places rather than slipping them out, but the same slumdog slyness is inherent despite my editing of its purpose.

Whatever my considerable skills of subterfuge may imply, however, I found that the task of scraping the funds for Cora’s birthday present was much more entertaining if I acquired them by taking the liberty of relieving Riley Lightwood of his lunch money every day for a few months. He was belligerent about it for a few days, but after one or two not-so-pleasant trips into the dumpster behind the cafeteria he was more than happy to surrender it when I asked. Still, even after spending a long stretch of time collecting donations, I’d come up a bit short with the big even just a few days around the corner. Luckily, the lockers at the training center are almost comically easy to pick, and most of the spoiled Career princes I train with don’t have to good sense to keep their valuables somewhere more secure.

The look on Cora’s face had been worth every effort when she saw the camera. While my usual rule in life is to work for no one’s satisfaction but my own, my cousins have always held a sort of soft spot that makes them exceptions. I had no idea what to look for when buying such a thing, but judging by her reaction and the fact that I’ve watched her run around school all day with the thing practically attached to her face, I did a good enough job.

I throw my books in my backpack and duck out of Calculus without a backward glance as soon as the last bell rings, wandering aimlessly down the hallway while the plebeians pass beneath my notice, occupied in their mediocre little lives. This is their existence, little rats, running mazes, having babies, buying a house with a picket fence. I can’t think of anything I would hate more. I spare a hair ruffle for Aurora and a moment to talk to Kiera about when she’s coming over to train next when I pass their lockers, but other than that I remain carefully aloof to my surroundings, the observant, omnipresent deity overlooking my domain, fearing nothing and –

“Baby, hi!”

Shit.

I hear Dahlia before I see her, a batshit-crazy blur of blonde curls and deranged smiles flying around the corner, and something close to panic sparks in my mind, eyes darting back and forth for possible escape routes. While indulging her obsession with me and keeping up the boyfriend pretense is useful, I have no desire to deal with her right now. Muttering a hasty goodbye to Kiera, I duck into the dearest hallway, attempting to get lost in the crowd and cursing my genetics for thinking that standing at nearly six-foot-six would give me any sort of advantage in life. The sterile hallways pass in a dizzying blur until I stop outside the art room, pulled to a halt by the sight of a familiar head of dark hair leaning over some project or another on a table. I grin, finally relieved at finding someone I wouldn’t mind spending time with.

I hover outside the door unseen until Cora stands up to go look at something on another table, quietly ducking into the room and sneaking within a foot’s distance from her. Still smiling (the action is rare, reserved only for her and occasionally one of her sisters), I dart forward and grab her round the waist, lifting her tiny frame off the floor and swinging her in a circle before dropping her unceremoniously. “Afternoon, Squirt. Making use of your birthday present?”

The pictures spread out on the table are of good quality, actually, interesting angles and carefully blurred focuses. Cora’s always had a knack for that sort of thing; she tried to teach me to draw a few years back but gave up after I could only produce half-decent stick figures and snapped a whole box of pencils in frustration. While I might be a divine force of destruction, I have an eye for beauty and can appreciate the talents of those who create it. Carefully, I run the pad of one skeletal finger along the outline of a silhouette recognizable as Kiera’s, hunched over a book and seemingly lost in thought.

“These are quite good, Cora,” I say absently, eyes travelling over a few more frames before flicking up in her direction and rolling skyward with my next statement. “I’m running from Dahlia. Can I claim sanctuary in here?”

this is for the girl next door
who thinks she loves me
she adores the voice that soars into her heart
but she don't know the sadness flow that pours out nightly
still I keep rolling the lonesome road out before me