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“You’re almost there, Rin. Just a little further. Please do not commit spousal homicide.”
She had come from nothing. She wasn’t going back to nothing.
Every gods-damned month her uterus would tear itself to pieces, send flashes of rage through her entire body, and make her bloated, clumsy, light-headed, and worst of all, weak.
She began to burn herself again. She found release in the pain;
She wasn’t so young that she didn’t know her country was at war. Not so young that she hadn’t been tasked to defend it.
Children ceased to be children when you put a sword in their hands.
War was a nightmare.
It was utter carnage. It was beautiful.
lit it on fire, and pushed it out to the sea. They did this with a sad, practiced efficiency.
who had taken lately to hurling objects across the room at the slightest hint of disobedience.
And why should an oppressor care?
“Their life spans are so short that they give no thought to the future of the land. If we lend them aid, they will drain this earth and squabble among themselves.
Because this sure as hell isn’t the kind of plan you come up with sober, I can tell you that.”
Chaos does not discriminate,
Your country is ash. You can’t bring it back with blood.”
Hating was so easy.
Those weren’t lives. They were numbers. They were a necessary subtraction.
One genocide against another—how did they balance on the scale of justice?
They were bound by the blood they had spilled.
