survival of the richest {vepar and celia blitz}

survival of the richest {vepar and celia blitz} Feb 1, 2016 0:46:30 GMT -5

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Post by [nyte] on Feb 1, 2016 0:46:30 GMT -5

VEPAR AZRAEL.

and you
were always faster than me
i'll never
catch up with you

Of course, Venus didn't recommend it. Of course, it wasn't a good idea. I am a literal wolf in sheep's clothing, cheap fabric chafing privileged skin and I make a note to send out an order for more comfortable apparel to wear when working-

I am not as heartless as one would think.

Yes, I dip my hands in crimson waste. I've torn my heart from my sleeve and prepare the murder of twenty three and the destruction of one more but it is so easy to forget among this merriment. They drink and they dine, they play with toys that Venus insists are anything but. I can see the shiny things sat upon racks now, weapons of mass destruction not held within the blades themselves but the small palms of those who they call master.

Even the eldest tribute seems a child, now that I think about it. I had only tasted sweet freedom for two years by the time I branded myself eighteen. I had only just been born and yet are preparing to reap twenty three souls or die trying-

and some are younger. That girl, the small one from eleven. Perhaps she will be the hardest murder. But orders are order and orders are clear.

Twenty three must die.

And so I want to see them, to know their smiles and the weight of their palms pressed against my own. I will let them paint a canvas with their slashed veins, brand an image of themselves into death-stained wrists. They will be more than names on paper and puppets with sinew strings. To harbor their souls is the least I can do, given that by the end of this month we will all be gutted by sin and grief. United as we hang by our entrails and drain like pigs.

Celia Mortuus I know her well. Venus and I slaved over a thousand fragile documents after twenty three names were pulled from glass graves, him with his paper and pen and me with razors and flesh. But there is only so much that words can portray, something my brother will perhaps never understand.

"Ma'am, can I get you anything? Water? Wine?" I can give you anything but your freedom, little girl.

But, of course, she doesn't know that.

oh i
can feel them
coming for me