come after dawn restores // vvitches vs murder we wrote

A broken cross covered in thorns, the emblem of your family. How suiting for those who bloom like roses only to wilt beneath the burden of the cross of the damned. Are you no better than those you left buried behind in a mist of misery? Shall your stem too be cut today only to trampled upon by the feet of Fate's chosen children? The situation is sickening to expend your thoughts on while you watch red rivers run down your arms. But it's where your mind ventures, and where the source of your fire for freedom continues to grow. You must abide by the emotional anarchy.

From the phasing figures of the forest to the brutal battalion of the brawl, the entire ecosystem is enlightened in chaos. You seem to stumble in its center, an on looker to this initial loss of innocence. You lost your's when you were little more than a child. A boy yearning for the warmth his Mother's broken body could not provide. Now it all seems like a similar scene you've been given permission to witness. Only this time there is no familial frailty, but little screaming brats with axes.

This one is definently more manageable.

When further words of dramatic design drip from the lips of Nine's friend from Five, you smirk at Sapphire's response. Her fangs do not falter for even a second. You see again the interest which originally drove you to her side. You see again the strength, no matter how true, that she is able to carry as a shield. You see this and a laugh lighter than the flickering fires of Hell leap forth from your own lips. What kind of person laughs like this in the face of potential extermination? Apparently you.

"Hell yeah, fuck what she says Sapphire! And aim for those lips, I'm tired of listening to her drama anyway."

Maybe you aren't willing to let them shatter the spirit you've let yourself find these past few days. Maybe that's why you're still smirking within a sea of scarlet and severed limbs. Whatever it is, you breathe it in deeply. Your fire seems to be fueled by its euphoric embrace. You turn your attention back to your smaller assailant.

Securing Cole's side you help steady him on his... foot, before waiting for your next window. In the meantime, you need something to numb the physical pain. Something to shroud the fact that your blood and his are now mixing beneath your boots. You turn to the crude comedy he so clearly has come to love.

"No kidding he's not good for anyone, talk about a bad break up."

You let your laughter fade with the falling of his spear. As he dips only softly into the skin of the girl from Nine, you slide swiftly through the leaves. An autumnal oasis surrounds your sliding shape as you bring your blade towards the small girl's eye level. This is a game of children and careers, though history has often proven otherwise. You refuse to follow precedent, your game is not yet finished. Your voice is the sound of icy seriousness and flaming desire.

"Oh just shut up pipsqueak."