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sanguisuge.
“We’ll have ourselves a tempest of tea on the horizon.”
The dead teach the living.
“Fear stops life, not death,”
Tell me, do you remember what it’s like to live?
His voice made her feel safe and comfortable, two illnesses she never allowed herself to catch again.
Because that was the nature of man. Born to nurture, determined to destroy.
She inhaled, devouring the scent of his blood, the fervor in his veins. It assaulted her. Drove her mad. She wanted to unleash her rage upon him. She wanted to crack open his rib cage and crawl inside of him.
“Embracing and giving in are not the same thing,” he said.
“Nope. I’ll be busy rebuilding Spindrift,” she scoffed. “Why save the world when you can have tea?”
It was rare to hear praise for her intellect. It was only ever treated as something that was overgrown to the point of recklessness; she was always told she was too cunning, too corrupt. Never brilliant.
He found her bleeding in an apartment on Nimble Street. “She struck the match,” she whispered, an oath in her voice as death came for her, swift as a tempest. He should never have left her alone. “Now we’ll burn her to the ground,” he swore.
