DARK PAPAL walks by his loyal subjects. They are mask-clad monsters; beasts with little more than symbols for names. He walks past the Sisters, past it all, and up to the altar. The pinnacle. He looks down upon the human who dares to question him, cyanide in his tone. Curiosity killed the cat, and the pope would make sure that satisfaction did not bring it back.
Who were you before all this? The question from the intruder plays on his mind. He can't remember. He doesn't care to.
He strikes him with a killer stare; one eye dark, the left almost white. His youth is stripped from him in parts. Older, but not elderly. He has walked the Earth for a while now. Not as long as so-called brother, or so-called father, but for a lengthened period of time.
Who were you before all this?
The man they call Papa Emeritus the Third, curls his painted lips.
Finally, he graces the human with his words.
"Something insignificant," He gestures towards himself, gaze still piercing, violent. "Nothing to what I am now."
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FanfictionHE'S ALWAYS BEEN BEAUTIFUL, but he hasn't always been envied. That came with wealth, with fame. Victor Julius Machiavelli Quinn was Manhattan's very own gothic Jay Gatsby. He lived in a penthouse overlooking the city, had many visitors, and was reno...
