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February 18 - February 20, 2022
Grandpa used to tell me never to answer if I heard my name called from the woods.
Abelaum, like Hell, was built on a foundation of magic and memories. It was beautiful; it drew in curious minds and ensnared them, like a spider weaving its web. Some humans stayed there forever; others swiftly left. But Abelaum had something not even Hell did: Abelaum had a God.
Humans and Gods were a bad combination.
Give a human knowledge, and he thinks he’s wise. Give a human magic, and he thinks he’s strong. Give a human religion, and he’ll think he’s right.
Kent Hadleigh — a man whom God had given knowledge, magic, and religion. A dangerous trifecta, leading to a man who fancied himself untouchable.
From cursed places come cursed humans.
She fired the gun. The bullet struck my shoulder. It felt like nothing more than a pinch. I looked down at the wound curiously, poking my finger in to dig out the bullet. She watched, in horror, as I dropped the bloodied bit of metal onto the ground. “My, my, so flirtatious.” I chuckled. “Do that again, Juniper, and I might think you want to play.”
Sometimes, there’s no running, no fighting. Sometimes, bad shit happens. The bad shit changes you. You can’t look at the world the same. You realize that manners, morals, culture, society, friends, and family are all fake. They’re ideas we cling to, to make existence bearable. When that’s ripped away — the fake optimistic bullshit — the only thing you have left is survival. Survival is messy. Survival has no morals or kindness. Survival isn’t black and white, good versus evil. Survival is shades of red; it’s blood taken and blood lost. My survival was a gun, liquor was my sustenance, and rough
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Lie, steal, run. Survive. Survival didn’t care about morals.
“Where are you from then?” “Here and there. Everywhere. Hell, originally.”
Monsters were real and Gods were evil, so the world was already going to Hell, regardless of my weird sexual turn-ons.
I think when you lose someone, a little part of yourself goes with them, and never returns.
“I don’t care what you want,” she said again. “I’ll give you my soul. I’ll damn myself for this. Torture me. Fuck me. Hurt me. It doesn’t matter. I want them all dead.”
Now that we were bound, our bargain sealed in blood and cum, I couldn’t get away from him. I didn’t think I wanted to.
“I slaughtered them all, Juniper. Every single one. I promise you right now that nothing that dares try to hurt you gets to live. Nothing.”
“This ass is mine,” he growled, tugging my head forward. My bite had broken his skin, and his blood dripped over my lips. “All mine, don’t you ever fucking forget it.” I released his fingers and spat his blood back in his face. He laughed — wildly, hungrily — and smeared the bloody spit over his face with his still-bleeding hand.
“Memories are far more frightening than ghosts.”
“But you already have me.” My voice sounded desperate. As if I was pleading with him to be callous, to tell me he was just joking. “Body and soul. But I decided I want something else too.” He laid his hand around my neck, and pressed his thumb against my pulse. Every beat was emphasized as it throbbed against his finger, hard and fast. “That right there. I want that next.” He lowered his voice, a shiver-inducing whisper in my ear. “And I’ll have it. Just wait.”
I’ve been to hundreds of parties across nearly ten centuries. And I can guarantee you, all the best ones had a murder.”
Murder bitches, get fucked...or something like that.” She gave me a long, exasperated stare. “It’s fuck bitches, get money, Zane.” “Right, yeah, that’s what I said.”
“I don’t think you need to be fixed, Juniper. I think you need to catch your light.”
“You look like you want to eat me,” she rasped huskily. “Oh, love, trust me, I do. I want to rip you apart.”
“My life isn’t special, Zane, don’t pretend like it is. I was never even meant to survive this long. I didn’t have a fucking thing until…” She drew in a shaky breath. “...until I made a deal with you.”
I’m not afraid of them, Zane. There’s only one thing I’m afraid of — and it’s losing you.”
A home isn’t just a place — sometimes a home is a person; sometimes a home is flesh and blood.
“You can be broken,” he said. “You’ll never be too broken for me. We can be monsters; you and I. We can be wretched, messy, strange things. If you’re afraid, then you can be afraid. When you lose your light, I’ll still come back for you in the dark. You’re not alone.” He kissed my forehead. “You’ll never be alone again.”
