Okay, first off, if you don't read/follow The Seven Names of Envy Angevin (by myself), this won't make any sense to you. It's a little spin-off/what-if of that fic. If you haven't read it…go read it. XD 3
Envy never takes those forty-nine pills – and because he doesn't, Seven Names of Envy Angevin happens. But what would have happened…if he had?
Warning: Gore, semi-explicit rape, general creepiness. Also depression.
And Then There Were None
It didn't come as a surprise.
It should have – these kinds of things always did – but Wrath had somehow known for a very, very long time that Envy would be the first to go over the edge.
And then there were four, he thought morbidly, leaning down and throwing in his clump of dirt – followed by the journal that Envy had held more dearly than his own life. Wrath hadn't read it, and as it hit the wooden coffin with a hollow 'thunk', he wondered if his brother had ever written about him.
He was seized with a sudden desire to climb into the grave, open the coffin and ask Envy himself – for the idea of reading Envy's precious notebook was unthinkable, even now.
"Wrath," murmured a soft, sad voice, and a hand tugged him along. He gave the notebook – and Envy – one last look before he continued on.
Sloth wasn't crying. She wasn't one for tears – but her face was drawn and tense, lines etched so deep that they looked like wrinkles. For a moment she looked very much like Dante.
Something caught Wrath's eye. He looked into the thicket of trees that bordered the graveyard. There were three boys he didn't recognize – about Envy's age.
One was shaking, another with his hand on his shoulder. The third merely leant against the tree, not detached but merely separate.
"DAMMIT!" The word cracked through the air like a gunshot, and the boy who had been shaking drove his fist into a tree. Barely more than a sapling still, the tree broke in half, and the boy fell to his hands and knees.
Wrath didn't know why he did, but he headed for the boy. He wanted to know who was close enough to his brother to scream heavenwards at his funeral, despite not even being part of the actual ceremony.
The boy looked up at him, amber eyes swimming. "I…fuck, I…I should have…I should have done something!"
Wrath was silent.
"I KNEW!"
Wrath remained still. He didn't know what this teenager meant – he didn't even know who he was.
"He…he…" The boy stuck his hand into the pocket of his red coat and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, handing it to Wrath with his head lowered so far that his braid, hanging over his shoulder, nearly brushed the ground.
Suddenly, Wrath's hands were trembling.
He opened it.
-ame is Envy Angevin, and today is the day I die.
What do butterflies dream of?
Do sleeping dragons have a name?
Questions, riddles without answers
Artists playing guessing games.
What do butterflies think about?
What brighter colours do they see?
What memories could they share with us?
How many prisoners could they set free?
"I…I didn't…I didn't take it seriously enough, I guess…" The boy wrapped his arms around himself. "I'm so sorry….I'm so sorry…"
Wrath hit him.
It didn't come as a surprise when Lust suddenly took a sharp turn for the worse. Within a week she was in the hospital, breathing tube in her trachea and intravenous drip in her arm.
Wrath sat with her, and sometimes he read to her. She liked that, especially fairy tales – the original ones, full of darkness and slaughter, not the silly Disney Princess ones.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
"What for?" he replied quietly.
"Leaving you like this. You're so sad…and both of us at once, it's…it's not fair." Lust reached over and took Wrath's hand. Hers was cold and clammy. Her vivacity had died with her favourite sibling. "But promise me something, love."
"Anything." Nothing. "I love you." You're leaving me.
"Please…for me, for Envy…live. Live well. You and Sloth…make me proud."
Wrath nodded. "I promise," he said, although it was a promise he would never be able – and had no intent – to keep.
She smiled – a real Lust smile, bright and sunny and happy – and exhaled slowly, sinking into the mattress as the steady 'beep-beep-beep' morphed into a low and constant whine.
And then there were three.
It didn't come as a surprise when Greed didn't stop. If anything, he just got worse.
"Get on your knees," he demanded, pressing down on Wrath's shoulders. He didn't bother fighting back. He was thirteen; Greed was twenty. And if he fought back, he'd just be locked in the closet again, to scratch at the walls and cry in the stifling darkness.
Usually he just tried to forget what was happening. It was impossible, of course, but he tried anyway.
But this time – this time, he could only think one thing.
You are why he's dead.
My big brother is gone. My beautiful, sad, sensitive, wispy, big brother is gone and it's ALL YOUR FAULT.
IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT
So whatcha gonna do about it?
Human anatomy was so dreadfully simple. Wrath trailed his finger along the picture, memorizing the location of each bone, each organ, each muscle. It wasn't hard, not for someone with a lot of time…and a lot of determination.
Funny. I wouldn't do this for myself.
Yeah, well, you're kind of a pussy.
But when it comes to my brother and sister…
You should have done this sooner, you idiot.
Better late than never.
And you can save Sloth, still.
Yes. He would at least save one.
He came the next night, right on time.
"Hey there, wildling."
Wrath stopped himself from glancing at the laptop on his desk. To any casual eye, it looked completely shut down, but no one knew electronics like he did.
Mother dear wanted fame? She was going to get it.
A moment later, Wrath winced as Greed rolled his heavy weight on top of him, heavy breath misting on his ear. "Are you gonna behave tonight?" he asked, the sandpaper rasp of his voice rough against his skin.
Wrath closed his eyes. He could just blank himself out, ride out the pain and then just keep going.
Better the devil you know.
Better the devil you know.
BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOWBETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOWBETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOWBETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOWBETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOWBETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOWBETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
…than the freedom you don't?
"Fuck, you always feel so damn…damn good…why do you do this to me?"
YOU ARE WHY HE'S DEAD.
Wrath's hand slid under his pillow and closed around the handle of the kitchen knife – and twisting at his waist, he drove it into Greed's side. It slid in so easily, making a 'snk' sound as it clicked between his ribs.
"FUCK! You son of a bitch, you stabbed me!"
Wrath didn't feel the blows that the rapidly-bleeding-out man rained down upon him. He didn't feel the blood that dripped onto him. He smiled serenely, pulled out the knife – and drove it in again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
That one's for the first time he held ya down and made you scream.
That one's for the first time he trapped you in the darkness with no way out.
That one's for leaving you alone.
"And then there were two," whispered Wrath, but Greed was gone. There was nothing but flesh there now.
The sounds of muffled sobbing brought his attention to the door. Someone who looked like Sloth was standing there, hugging the doorframe, tears pouring down her alabaster face.
Of course, it couldn't be Sloth, because Sloth never cried.
She didn't.
"You killed him," she whispered between sobs. She looked so small in her white lace nightgown, diminished in the darkness.
He sat up, suddenly feeling like the older of the two. He was soaked.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I did."
So what are you gonna do now? The police'll send you to jail and somebody else'll just claim that pretty little ass of yours.
Wrath steadied the point of the knife (so long and so sharp – almost as long as his arm) just under his ear.
How do I do it?
Deep. Hard. Just like a smile.
Wrath grinned, even knowing that his bloodstained smile would give Sloth no comfort. But it wasn't done, not yet, not yet.
"And then there was one."
Die smiling.
Slash.
It didn't come as a surprise when the video went viral.
It didn't come as a surprise when Theophrastus Angevin was never elected again.
It didn't come as a surprise when Dante died at sixty, after over ten years without making a single film.
It did come as a surprise, though, when Sloth Angevin, the quiet one, the one that no one had really expected anything from, refused to fall.
She became a lawyer – but first, she changed her name. She became Juliet Douglas – a normal name for someone who wanted nothing more than to be normal. She had nothing to do with the video. She had nothing to do with Dante, or Dante's Sins.
And then there were none.