the hour of my execution is almost here. for the sinner, the curtain call has come. i know i may not sound it, but, faced with death, i find myself a little afraid. perhaps this is one thing both gods and humans have in common.
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𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘥, 𝘶𝘨𝘭𝘺, 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. can feel the rope around her neck, the knife sitting perfectly next to her spine, in her back. welcomes it home.
the needles, his fists, are threaded through her skin, ...
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wishbone rests in twin clenched fists: he holds onto her as tightly as she holds onto herself. the body is a fallacy; lines of separation matter less and less. someone’s neck slips into the loop of the long — waiting noose. 𝘺𝘰𝘶⠀»
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... hands.
ribs break and make way for him, make way to their open heart, to that haunted, hungry house that the both of them share.
the house, the heart, that eats and pleads and kills. blackened and ...
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the girl now left behind them, the rose ── cheeked spectator, their unknowing audience, holds his prophecy on her tongue.
catches the way he looks at lottie, then back ; and maybe he knows how shauna would beg for her ...
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finds a strange grace in the lull: for a moment, just a moment, they’re almost at peace. he can watch the pair of them, two people he loves in a shared embrace, neither hurting or being hurt.
he’s undeserving of such things, he⠀»
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... a mother’s protection. hands drop to sides, repeats van’s earlier action of curling them into fists. she knows better than to out ── monster the monster.
it takes a second, but her head is back in its place, staring ...
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... living, though, not for long, in the soft intimacy of taking his hand in hers and leading them to the alter ; together.
ode to the death rooted in love alone. 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ...
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