eye of painted devils } { amaryllia | oneshot

You became consumed by nostalgia, in the vivid memories of your older sister, Beretta. Her name is almost unspeakable by the likes of the silver and sharp tongue that resides in your mouth. It's funny, though, how the blood that flows through your veins resembles hers almost to the point where- you both were practically constructed for one another. The architects of a fabricated life could never do the handy patchwork of stitched skin and bones that you remain on, for the majority of time throughout your ticking days. Rather, you've built the kingdom for yourself, and though it may be damaged from the raging cannon shots back and forth, across the checkered board of blacks and of whites, it was still handcrafted by no one other, and the stitched throne was rested upon by the girl who single handedly crafted it. And though a true sadist in her sense, loyalists don't dare to whisper your name in blasphemy, Amaryllia.


It'd always been a raging war between the two of you. Fighting for both "affection", however it was not something truly sought out for, and though you'd never like to admit it- you'd grown jealous. You'd grown obsessive, even to the extremities of sharpening your teeth to fangs, and your nails to claws, but for what? The gifts- the presents- the luxurious life she'd lived in fear, because you could always tell that Beretta's life was not lived for love. ("Everyone knows the only thing scarier than Don Corléon is his daughter.") It was appraisal and appeasement, hoisting gifts made from the golden ichor of gods- a sacrificial offering. Her cat eyes told the forsaken tales of their endless journeys, and one could tell she was a painted devil upon blank canvas nonetheless.


It had always crossed your mind,  though, for the love and affection you've received in tenfold compared to Beretta. You were a selfish, wretched girl- and love was not something you desired. Precious jewels and diamonds snatched from around your mothers neck, she slapped your hand and sent you to your room for time out, but it was never the same, and you hissed her name in curses each and every time. You'd watch, stuck, in between both horror and admiration as your sister flushed your mothers finest jewelry down the toiler, broke glass through out the house, and threw furniture from the top window of the mansion. 


You'd grown up, the feeling of a life lived as unfair and the treatment of an unwanted step child. ("Daddy, I want...! Daddy, give me...! Daddy- Daddy- Daddy!") Giving Beretta everything she'd demanded, your father never treated you the same. Material possessions went long ways more than the love both your parents had offered you, but it wasn't enough to fill a hole that'd been slit from the start. Never being one to realize that- when your father kissed you upon the head for a goodnight, and wished you with the best dreams for his little kitten, he never touched Beretta. When your mother picked you up and held your hand through the district, you always noticed Beretta trailing closely, but never did your mother ever touch her in the way she held you- or at all, even.

("Daddy! Daddy!

Can we have buttercream cake of Friday?")

("No, Amaryllia-
We had cake on Tuesday.")

There had always been a fixed limit set put on you. Acceptance was given and situation turned away from. Seventeen years you've put up with being the shadow that clings only to the heels of Beretta. Building your own kingdom in return, you were opposed to Beretta's, and though living and residing on opposite sides of the checkered board- you were both evil, black queens, obsessed with death and defiance, put in places where perhaps you never were destined to be. Black and white were covered in a crimson red that speckled and splattered across the armies who marched against each other. It was blood spilled from each side, and though the outcome was coming to a close, it was foreseen as a victory in your favor. ("Her troops are dying, and soon so will she.") She handcrafted more from bones, but they were only minuscule in comparison to bones thickened with flesh.


So now, you sit upon your throne of skin and bones, crafted from the bodies and limbs of those who'd fallen to your wrath. In between your fingers- claws, you pet, purr and stroke at the benevolent present of cat heads your sister had left upon your bed before she'd left. Though, it'd been seemingly forever since she stepped foot into your palace- your kingdom, and thus it was a work done all on your own. Severed limbs from your pets and precious toys, you grabbed boxes and ribbons, setting one in each before it became a beautiful present. You can recall back to when Beretta blew you a kiss upon entering the Justice Building and leaving to join the damned, she left a gift imprinted upon your heart, but only to make sure it cut deep- as though she'd thrown a dagger right into you.

"Beretta Corléon.

- Love, Amaryllia"

You mocked the words you printed with pen and blood filled within an inkwell. Finished with a kiss upon the fresh and bloody wrapping paper around a cubic box, you set it aside for when Beretta would return.