I wrote this a while ago during a brief moment of scary craziness. I'm really good at that kind of stuff. I wrote three others and I'll try to do as many as I can. The ratings of each story will vary. This one being a high T, mild M. So R&R.
Szayzel and Yylfordt
13 Years Old
"Get up, worthless brats."
"Yes, master." And they do.
"Yylfordt, tend to the stables."
"Yes, master," the blonde twin says and runs outside.
"Szayzel, pour me some whiskey." The pinkette races into the kitchen and then back out, whiskey bottle and shot glass in hand, shaking slightly. He doesn't like being without his twin, especially after their parents' death. The boy swiftly pours the drink and stands back at attention.
"You may help Yylfordt. Then you can go to your quarters. I will not need you again this night, Szayzel."
"Yes, master." He smiles slightly and runs outside and into the stables. "Yylfordt!" he shouts.
"Szayzel?" his twin questions, "what are you doing out here?" He knows that Szayzel doesn't work outside often. Being the daintier of the two, he's fragile, like the butterfly Yylfordt's called him since they were small. Like their mother used to call him.
"He let me out. After we're finished, he said we could go to our rooms." The pink haired boy's face lights up in a smile meant to be seen by his twin and his twin only. He picks up a pitchfork and sets to work beside his brother.
They work hard until they're finished, before disappearing into their room. Inside, Szayzel curls up o his brother's bed, while Yylfordt whittles another butterfly for Szayzel. When he's finished, he lays down next to him, an arm draped across the smaller kid's stomach.
"Brother," Szayzel says, "do you think I could be a scientist one day?"
"Sure, but why?"
"Cause, scientists are smart and in their own way brave." He smiles unconsciously. "Just like you, Yylfordt."
"Well, you've already got one of those thing down." His eyes sparkle with laughter. "You're most definitely brave. I'm not so sure about smart, but brave you are."
Szayzel punches his arm playfully and mutters under his breath, "I'm smarter than you."
"Is that so?"
"Yup!"
Yylfordt chuckles and pulls his twin closer to him, and they snuggle down to sleep. "G'nite, butterfly."
"Goodnight, stubborn bull."
7 Years Later: 20 Years Old
It has been four years since their master's demise. Four years since the Grantz twins, now men, earned their freedom. Since then, Szayzel has become an incectologist, and Yylfordt a blacksmith. Even though they live on opposite sides of the city, they meet one another every Sunday afternoon for a stroll around town.
It was on one of these walks that death began playing his cards.
They hear the clinking of metal ad a gunshot in the alley ahead of them. Instead of doing what a normal person would of done and run away, they run into the alley. At their feet lay a young man, as dead as can be. Farther in was a rough and ragged looking man. A man that they'd recognize anywhere. The man that Szayzel still had nightmares about. The reason they were sold into slavery. The man who killed their parents.
Without thinking, Szayzel pulls his 38' out from his pocket and levels it with the man's head. "Do you remember us? Do you remember who you killed?" Szayzel gives the man no time to answer. "You killed our parents!" he wails out and before Yylfordt can stop him, he pulls the trigger.
The man falls back; blood gushing from the bullet hole in his forehead.
Szayzel, realizing what he has just done, turns back to his twin brother on the verge of crying. "I killed someone, Yylfordt." His brother silently gathers the trembling man in his arms and walks away before the police can come.
"Szayzel, it will be okay. I won't tell, butterfly. I promise. Alright?" The pink haired man nods, burying his face into his twin's shirt. They leave never realizing they left Szayzel's butterfly crested pocket watch behind.
Two Days Later
The doorbell rings. Szayzel rushes up to answer. He opens the door to reveal two officers with solemn expressions. He wipes his hands on a towel and says, "I'm very sorry it took me so long. I was in my lab studying a new species of butterfly. Quite interesting really."
"That's quite alright, Mr. Grantz. We have some questions to ask you about last Sunday."
"Alright, follow me to the parlor." They enter the room filled with lavish and theatrical things. The officers blink at the amount of pink in the room. While it's common knowledge of the scientist's sexual preference, no one thought he was so flamboyant. "Would you like some tea?" he asks softly, but doesn't show the fear he actually feels.
"No, thank you, Mr. Grantz," they say softly. They sit down on the love seat opposite the cotton candy haired man. They stare at one another for some time before the officers speak up. "Where were you last Sunday between two and four P.M.?"
"I was walking with my brother, just like every other Sunday at that time."
"Did you notice anything strange when you were out? Perhaps a gunshot?"
His eyes widen considerably, amber eyes concerned. "A gunshot? What happened?"
"Cut the crap, Szayzel Aporro Grantz. We have evidence that ties you to the murder."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking ab..."
"We know you were there. We already have enough evidence for a conviction. And you'll be getting the chair, Mr. Grantz. Unless you plead gui…"
"Get out of my house!" he screams.
The officers scramble out the room and leave without another sound. Szayzel puts his head in his hands. His own brother had to have betrayed him, but he's going to fix that.
With Yylfordt
Yylfordt strides up to Szayzel's house that next Sunday; dread growing the closer he gets to the house. He shakes off the feeling and opens the door, stepping inside. "Szayzel!" he calls. No answer, so he creeps in further. He hears a rustle and whirls around. The only thing he sees is a flash of pink before falling into the black.
He wakes up to a stinging and scorching pain in his side, arms and legs. A slippery wetness slides over his limbs, warm and sticky. He opens his eyes to find himself in his brother's lab. He glances down, nearly fainting from the sight.
Long gashes run along his side and stinging appendages. Blood pours from the wounds and sitting on a stool beside him is his twin, holding a bloody scalpel.
When Szayzel realizes he's awake, he leans down with the scalpel and cuts his brother again. "Your bleeding out," he says in a creepy gleeful way, "soon nothing will be left. Guess it's time to say goodbye." He raises the double bladed tool again and before Yylfordt can cay anything, he slits his throat. The pink haired scientist leans down then and kisses his twin's forehead. The final thing Yylfordt hears is a whispered, "I love you."
Szayzel spins around to clean up and in a single moment of clumsiness, slips. He falls backwards with a thud. His eyes fix upon a glass jar that holds his newest specimen. The last thing he sees before fading away is that insect.
A butterfly with pure black wings.