"I want to defile you, destroy you, corrupt you in the most sinfully beautiful way. Break you until you're completely mine."
"And then?"
"Then I'll piece you back together, of course." He took another step in her direction, closing the distance be...
Sighing, he shoved his phone inside the back pocket of his jeans but not before he caught sight of his uncovered hand.
Huh.
His hands were painted crimson.
It felt odd, knowing that if he happened to gaze at a mirror, it wouldn't be his face staring back at him but his father's. Odd and nauseating.
Mick kept his eyes averted every time he passed by one for good measure.
"If you can't see it, it isn't true. Isn't that what they say?"
The crimson pool lying by his feet gave no reply. It felt strange to imagine that the man it belonged to would soon be unrecognisable. His face would become blotched and mildly reminiscent of various shades of blue and purple.
Now, mildly might not be the proper word to use when describing the state of the carcass, that's true, but the alternatives echo rather harshly in one's brain.
Let's just say that his mother would have recognised him, vaguely by a birthmark on his right shoulder. If she ever did find the body, that is.
If he was dead, of course.
Gods, how the fuck did it come to this?
Mick sighed. He stood over the wrapped up bloody comforter and knife and murmured, "It certainly wasn't your lucky day, was it?"
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For the first time in years, Guinevere stared at a piano with no sadness lurking behind her eyes.
She moved to the grand instrument sitting proudly in Nathan's living room and allowed herself the simple pleasure of playing.
She hadn't touched the keys in years but the second her fingers settled over them, it felt like she'd never abandoned them.
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly. . ."
Gwen sat on the stool of his piano, playing the song over and over until there were cracks in her voice and her fingers grew depressingly numb.
At some point, from the corner of her eye, she noticed Nathan leaning against a wall, his back coming in contact with the bedroom door. His cellphone was in his hands but he was paying it no attention, his focus only on her.
The secrets hiding in his eyes could easily rival those that hid on the Phaistos disk. Even though an expert in secrets herself, she'd never be able to decode his if he did not allow it, exactly like the disk.
Nathan pushed himself away from the wall, keeping his mask on. It wasn't what he'd witnessed that bothered him, blood had never before disturbed him and neither had death.
It was the nerve-wracking feeling that, even though Seth had terrorised and caused her so much harm, she'd still find it in her to mourn him.
