Blinding Shadows. The 78th Games.
IV. Everybody Talks.
CW: Kezaeh is a Tribute based on extreme NSFW themes. If odd sexual paraphernalia makes you uncomfortable, I highly recommend skipping her introduction. It was a bit uneasy for me to write as the author, but I felt this was the most important part of her to showcase, based on how heavily it was emphasized on her form.
Put on a scary mask and sneak in late
Watch me sleep and wake me up getting ate
I want you to stab me with your knife
Is it too much to ask for you to end my life?
You watch the light go in my eyes
It feels the same as when you're inside
I am perverted, sick and sadistic
Covered in your blood
It's ritualistic
Sterling Satinette. 17.
District Eight Male.
✦✦✦
Sterling Satinette's become well adjusted to the darkness of the world.
With no idea who his parents were and no desire to know who they are, it's always been him against the world, and even if it meant sleeping with one eye open and a knife under his pillow, Sterling's always lived for the rush that comes with executing the perfect crime.
It's only gotten better now that he has Alexander Houndstooth to accompany him. The heir to District Eight's most prominent crime family, the two of them make a stellar team, even if Alexander can be a bit of a sadist at times. Sterling doesn't mind that, 'cause at least Alexander's put a roof over his head, food in his mouth, and even somebody to occasionally call his lover.
Not that Sterling can afford to be sentimental over him, of course. He's got bigger things to worry about, mainly the fact that fuckin' Gerard Foustein's yet again late to pick up his order of cocaine.
"Damn Foustein," Alexander mutters, pacing back and forth in the alleyway they've camped out in, "I don't know why my father hasn't given me permission to just murk the guy."
Sterling gives Alexander a look. "Murk is a nasty word, Alexander. Just say you're going to kill him like a normal person."
Alexander rolls his eyes as he turns to Sterling. "Oh, shut up, you prissy little shit."
Sterling smiles. "Whatever you say, Alexander."
The boys stand in silence, each thinking their own thoughts.
"Hey," Alex says eventually, stopping what he's doing to look at Sterling, "What if we... What if I..."
His voice trails off as he looks at Sterling, trying to figure out exactly what he wants to say.
"What?" Sterling asks curiously.
Alexander takes a deep breath. "Nevermind," He shrugs, turning back around.
There's something off about how Alexander said nevermind... Or maybe Sterling's reading far too much into it.
Either way, Alex goes back to pacing, his back facing Sterling.
Sterling sighs. If anything he'd rather spend this entire hour with Alexander than sitting alone inside some dingy alleyway.
He glances over at his partner and catches Alexander's gaze. Alexander seems tense, staring down the alley.
They both stare at each other for a second before both breaking eye contact and looking back at the road ahead.
This continues on for several minutes. Neither of them say a word, but they both seem more anxious, which is weird. And Alexander keeps checking behind him every few seconds.
After a while, Sterling starts to feel concerned. "Hey... Are you okay?" He asks quietly.
Alex looks over his shoulder briefly before turning and looking straight at Sterling.
"Yeah," He nods, but his expression doesn't match his words. His tone isn't convincing either. It sounds almost nervous.
But Alex keeps walking. Sterling watches until he disappears.
And then a few minutes later, he hears it. A gunshot.
Sterling jumps up and runs towards the sound.
When he gets there, he sees Alexander lying on the ground, blood pooling underneath him.
Sterling drops to his knees beside him. "Alexander!" He cries, shaking him. "Alexander! Wake up!"
Alexander groans, clutching his stomach and gasping. Blood streams between his fingers onto the dirt beneath him.
Sterling quickly gets to work trying to stem the bleeding, but Alex pushes Sterling away roughly.
"I'm fuckin' fine!" He snaps, "Just fucking... Fuck!"
He falls backwards and hits his head on the concrete ground hard, and then he stops breathing.
Sterling feels his heart break, but tries to hide the pain. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and uses it to press tightly against the wound, trying to staunch it.
He sits there, sobbing softly. He stares, unblinking, as his lover dies right there in front of him, unable to move to help or comfort.
He's terrified of losing Alex.
He knows he can never forgive himself if Alex is gone. That he'll never get another chance to know what Alexander looks like when he sleeps peacefully, when he's happy. He won't ever see his laugh ever again. He won't ever get to hear his gentle words of love again.
He'll never get a chance to wake next to Alexander every morning.
Never get to run fingers through the mess of blonde hair on his head after waking up, kiss his forehead, hold his hand, or tell him everything will be alright.
Sterling sniffles quietly, tears slowly making their slow journey down his cheeks as he gazes down at Alexander.
It hurts to watch his lover die. But not more than it hurts to lose someone like Alex.
Someone that means so much more to him than he could possibly understand. Someone who he'd give his life for in a heartbeat. Someone who's his soulmate.
Someone important to him.
But again, no time for sentiment. Sterling turns around to see Gerard staring him dead in the eyes, a gun in his hands, an eerie smile on his face as he holds it directly to Sterling's head.
Sterling freezes.
He needs to get his revenge, now. But he doesn't have the strength.
"Foustein," Sterling whispers, "Please."
Gerard laughs, and steps closer. Sterling flinches, holding his breath, waiting for the bullet that would surely follow any moment.
But then Gerard pulls his hand back.
Sterling breathes in a shaky breath of relief, and lets it out in a small hiccup as he wipes away his tears.
Then Gerard moves forward again, grabbing Sterling by the neck with one hand, pressing the barrel of his pistol against his temple with the other.
Sterling's vision blurs as he looks helplessly into the cold, dark eyes of Gerard. Tears fall freely down his cheeks, and he shakes with fear as Gerard leans closer.
Sterling closes his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable bullet to hit him in the head and send him crashing back into oblivion, and he can't help but be afraid, absolutely miserable that his short and salty life's about to come to an end.
But it turns out, there weren't any bullets left in the gun. Sterling's safe, but Gerard sure won't be.
As Gerard backs away slowly, Sterling looks down at Alexander's still body.
"Fuck," he whispers.
He's killed before, but it never really meant something. This time, it has to be personal. It's gotta be really bad for him to be acting like this.
For once, he thinks of nothing, nothing but getting his revenge.
Getting justice for Alex. Getting payback for the wrong that Gerard did to Alexander.
And for the entire Houndstooth family. For all of them.
That's enough motivation for Sterling to push himself up to his feet, and stagger forward.
Sterling's legs shake and threaten to buckle beneath him.
But he doesn't let that stop him, he doesn't waver. He can do this. He has to do this.
He reaches for the knife he always carries with him at all times, gripping it firmly, ready to use it at the slightest provocation.
He walks carefully towards Gerard, keeping his eyes on him the entire time.
A flash of panic runs across Gerard's face as Sterling closes the distance between them. He looks like he wants to pull the gun on Sterling, but he doesn't dare, and Sterling takes that momentary lapse of hesitation as his opportunity to take the gun. He throws Gerard to the side roughly, knocking him down. Sterling brings his knife to Gerard's throat, pointing the blade right in between the man's eyes, watching as the color drains from his face.
Gerard shudders as Sterling presses the knife harder against his skin.
"Don't even think about calling the Peacekeepers, Gerard," Sterling growls menacingly, "You're so fucking dead."
Gerard gulps as Sterling speaks, his voice trembling slightly from fear.
"So don't fuck with us," Sterling snarls, pressing the blade further against Gerard's throat, causing him to choke on his own breath, "Or else."
Gerard swallows hard. He doesn't say anything, only squeezes his eyes shut tight.
Sterling presses the tip of the knife deeper against Gerard's skin, letting the blood drip from it. He grimaces as he begins to drool, growling in pain. And Sterling's glad he's hurting, because Gerard deserves it for killing Alexander in cold blood. He's a monster. The scum of society. He should've died long ago.
Sterling pushes the knife harder into Gerard's neck, and watches as he struggles to breathe. Sterling smirks triumphantly, before pulling it out abruptly, throwing it aside. Gerard chokes and coughs, spitting out mouthfuls of blood, coughing, trying desperately to catch his breath.
Sterling stands over him for a few more moments before finally taking a step back. He watches as Gerard gasps, coughing, spluttering as he tries to suck in air. He's victorious, and that thrills him.
But back to Alexander, who's still dead on the ground. Sterling doesn't know what to do with him, 'cause whenever he's around a dead body, it's one he killed so he doesn't really need to give a damn about the cleanup, but for Alexander, he has to care. He can't let his lover rot on the streets.
"Come on..." Sterling says softly, bending down to pick Alex up.
He lays him down gently on the dirt, careful not to move too fast. He places his head next to his chest. Then he puts his arms under Alex's shoulders and pulls, carefully lifting the body up.
He holds it with as little movement as possible. It's a lot of effort though.
He sets Alex down on the grass next to where the car was parked last night. He sits down, putting his knees against his chest and burying his head in his hands.
Tears stream down his cheeks and drop onto his hands. They'e cold, but they feel good on his burning cheeks. His whole body trembles with emotion as he cries, feeling completely drained, physically and emotionally.
He just wants to sleep.
He wants the pain and terror and despair to end.
He wants to forget about everything and everyone.
Everything and everyone he cared for is dead, and there's nobody left who cares about him. Nobody to protect him. Nobody he can trust.
Nobody he loves.
Sterling sniffles quietly, wiping at his wet nose. He leans over, laying beside Alex.
His arms wrap around his lover's limp and motionless body.
No emotions are strong enough to overpower the sadness he's feeling. No emotions are strong enough to override all the anger, betrayal, pain, grief, and sorrow he's been experiencing throughout these past few moments.
None of them make him angry anymore.
The only thing that does now is worry.
Because he's absolutely dreading the moment where he reunites with Alexander's father.
Aristo Krenn. 18.
District One Male.
✦✦✦
Aristo Krenn has accepted it by now, he's never had a chance. His life is but a sob-story, dead parents and a sister who married rich but never came back to him. He's fucked, absolutely positively fucked as he prepares for the fact he's sure to be dead in the Games, and the saddest part of all is that Aristo doesn't give a fuck. Hell, he's excited for death's warmth to embrace him, it's not like his life's ever been one worth living anyway.
The only thing he has is Crossbones, an abandoned cat he found in an alleyway two years ago, but he doubts that even she would miss him. As much as he adores the critter, he's not naive enough to believe that cats actually have feelings.
Maybe that's why he likes cats, actually. They're feral and vicious on the outside, but on the inside any feelings they could ever have remain hidden. Feelings are best that way, bottled up and locked behind the prying eyes of the public. Feelings kill, and Aristo won't let himself be slain by something as dumb as his hidden yearning for being loved.
It's stupid.
Everything Aristo Krenn ever thinks is stupid.
That includes his plans, hopes, dreams, and goals. If only there were some simple way to convince him that he's wrong, but there isn't, and he knows that. But it seems the Universe just loves fucking with him. Everything will be easy once he's dead, and perhaps that's what compells him to do his best at One's Academy, training until his skin sears with pain and his bones cry for mercy.
It's nothing but pure agony, but maybe he'll get to experience the thrill of it all. Maybe he can escape all of this bullshit if he does well enough, and maybe if he does good enough then he can live. Then maybe he'd finally be happy. But no matter how hard he tries, he's always failed.
And he's tired.
Tired of waiting for death to knock him down, tired of pretending he has what he wants (he doesn't) tired of feeling guilty for wanting it (no one will blame him if he takes his own life), tired of running and hiding (he's done it long enough), tired of living in pain (he can't stay alive forever);
and tired of dying for his own sake.
It's all because he's weak, because he's lonely, because his heart is broken and twisted beyond belief. Because he's selfish and pathetic (because he deserves to be alone) because of the constant reminders of how unworthy he is. Tired of having all these thoughts, so conflicted with what he really wants. What he should do. What he needs to do. What he shouldn't. What he's supposed to do. Tired.
But it's not enough. It can't ever be enough and maybe that's why it hurts so much.
The ache deep within, that gnaws and bites away at his insides; the longing to be free, the hope that someone will see past him and know him as he truly is; all the anger he feels toward the world around him. How can he possibly feel anything but hatred towards something as disgusting as this? Even as he' s trying his best to ignore the pain; the guilt; the loneliness.
His whole body aches from the stress that comes with constantly trying to push aside his own emotions. The pressure that builds and builds and builds as he tries to keep them all out so that he doesn't become overwhelmed and crumble under the weight. All these feelings he's pushing aside because he can't face them, and that's why he hates himself so much. Because he can't bear to think about those thoughts (the ones that scream into his mind, that make him feel empty, and so, so wrong) because he can't deal with that because it means acknowledging what he feels and accepting how shitty he really is and he can't stand that. Doesn't want to, because he can't deal with how fucking awful he is. Not again, not after everything else he has.
There aren't many things that Aristo Krenn wishes he could forget. Things he wishes he didn' t care about or regret. Things he wishes he had died instead of leaving those scars and burns upon the world around him.
Things that haunt him every day because he cannot escape them.
No matter how hard he tries. No matter what he does. No matter where he goes or what he does, they follow him.
The nightmares don't stop, either. Sometimes he wakes up screaming. Often he's crying, and sometimes he's shaking and sweating and trembling, his breaths shaky and shallow. Sometimes he's shaking with silent tears streaming down his face, and sometimes he's sobbing into his pillow and shaking uncontrollably and gasping for breath that won't come and he just wants this to stop...
He doesn't sleep very often anymore; that's a given. And when he does, there's nothing to distract him from the endless stream of bad thoughts and dreams. Nothing to make him feel like a normal kid. And the worst part, really, is that Aristo Krenn isn't even aware of how bad his reality is or what he should do about it. He doesn' t even notice himself. He doesn' t even care, really.
It's okay, though. Nightmares are better than being awake.
Aristo Krenn is an odd one, he knows that. Most people can say a million different things about him that mean basically the same thing. They hate him, they love him, they love him too, but they also fear him. That's fine, he supposes. Because he doesn't want the people who hate him and love him to change how they treat him. And since he's the most feared kid in the entire District, it's probably wise to respect him and his opinions.
So he's okay with that.
He's okay with being hated.
He's okay with being feared.
He's okay with being unloved.
He's okay with being alone.
But he's more okay with being unloved than anything else.
(He doesn't deserve to be.)
And that's the mindset he has on the morning of the Reaping for the 78th Games. Was he chosen to volunteer? Of course not. But since when has being told "no" stopped Aristo from doing what he wants?
He approaches One's chosen volunteer, some rat bastard namedGaius (or something dumb like that). It isn't particularly pleasant talking to the man; he's rude and makes Aristo so angry, it's practically painful!
"I'm here to volunteer," Aristo says flatly, "I know you were chosen, but also consider, I don't give a fuck."
Aristo turns on his heel to leave;
"Are you kidding me?" Gaius snaps, and Aristo stops in his tracks, looking over his shoulder, "You don't care if you die? Hell, fuck you. I'm the one supposed to be volunteering. Why're you taking that away?"
Aristo replies shortly, turning back around, "I don't really care if I die."
He isn't quite lying when he says that. He doesn't care if he dies in front of his classmates, and strangers he meets in the arena. He doesn't care about them if he dies. Because he hasn't cared much about them for years now.
"I've already lost my fucking family," he continues, "I might as well just lose myself too."
He looks Gaius straight in the eye, daring the rat bastard to argue. The asshole opens his mouth to protest, however, before he gets the chance to speak, Aristo pushes him up against the wall and whispers, "I don't think you realize that this isn't your choice."
He can't deny it's a bit homoerotic, but that just makes it all the more entertaining when he slams Gaius down to the ground .
"You don't belong here!"
Gaius glares at him, glaring harder as soon as Aristo pulls him up and forces his wrist up in order to tie his hands together. He's quick to pull his arm away and shove him harshly forward when Aristo is done. The teen stumbles back slightly, stumbling in surprise. His hands hurt from the pressure Gaius put onto his wrists, but he's sure that it will go away quickly.
The rat bastard walks off without another word, and Aristo sighs. The kid is an idiot, obviously. But he's been getting used to idiocy in District One. And the Capitol is full of idiots.
Not that he actually cares.
He's too tired to care about anything or anyone anymore. He doesn't have time to waste on such useless things. He's been spending the last few years of his life making sure he's ready to die, and he's pretty sure there's nothing left that matters anymore. And it' s been easier to let himself die rather than face everything going on around him. He's gotten used to it, he thinks.
With just a few hours to spare before the Reaping, Aristo decides to check on Crossbones and make sure she's alright. He'll probably never see her again, after all.
He strokes her grey furr in his hand and smiles, "You'll do just fine without me, I promise."
The cat hisses as if she can tell Aristo's leaving doesn't bother to open her eyes though. Just keeps purring softly in response, letting her owner stroke her fur in silence.
"Alright, girl. Don't get sad, ok?" Aristo speaks quietly, "I'm sure somebody else would love to take care of you, okay?"
Crossbone simply mews softly, not giving any indication whatsoever that she understands. Aristo doesn't expect her to, because well, she is a cat after all. Maybe it's better that way, not understanding life and how awful it can be sometimes.
She certainly doesn't understand his situation in the slightest.
After checking her over one last time, Aristo stands up and steps backwards, taking stock of his surroundings. He takes in the scene before him with mild interest, his brow raised in contemplation; the District seems fairly nice, he supposes. Especially on a day like today where nobody's messing around and everyone's dressed all fancy.
And, to top it all off, everybody's smiling brightly and having fun like Aristo hasn't seen in awhile.
It's almost nice, honestly. Almost comforting too. It's just a shame that a world with the potential of being so beautiful could hate him so personally.
It's almost enough to bring tears to his eyes, to the point where it becomes difficult to breathe, so hard that Aristo struggles to remain standing upright, his knees buckling beneath him, as tears threaten to spill from his eyes and slide down the sides of his cheeks.
It hurts, and it makes it so much harder for him to keep breathing as the realization finally hits home that he's alone - again.
It's always been like that, isn't it? No matter where he went, no matter how much he tried, no matter who he tried to spend time with, he's always destined to a life on his lonesome, and the worst part is that he continues to do this to himself on purpose.
Like many things, it's a lesson Aristo will never learn.
Kezaeh Wren. 17.
District Six Female.
✦✦✦
Kezaeh Wren wasn't expecting to enjoy this.
Her victim, a Peacekeeper, is laid out beneath her in the town square, his body bloodied and beaten, and even if people are watching, Kezaeh thinks he's... well, beautiful. He's dead, dead because she killed him nevertheless, yet in his agony she's found a corrupt form of beauty.
She's killed before, oh everyone knows Kezaeh's slaughtered people to the bone, yet this is different. Because the Peacekeeper's naked, fully vulnerable to her, and she can't help but feel as though the two of them have a special bond of sorts. Kezaeh hates to admit that it's one she wants to indulge in.
"What'd' 'ya say, pal?" She says with a smirk, placing her palms on his bare chest, "You ever fucked someone alive while you're dead?"
Of course, he doesn't reply, so Kezaeh continunes, "Well I haven't fucked someone dead while I'm alive, so this should be great fun for the both of us."
He remains silent.
Kezaeh laughs.
She continues to laugh and laugh as she leans forward and grabs his face, pulling it closer to hers, kissing him passionately. She feels a thrill of excitement run through her and she can taste his lips, and she wonders what it tastes like, and suddenly she's leaning back, looking at the bloodstain on her hands.
"Don't worry, pal. You won't bleed anymore," she assures, "I'll be quick, don'cha worry. I got somethin' planned for ya."
Kezaeh turns her attention back to the Peacekeeper, ignoring the fact her own groin's swelling in arousal. She tells herself not to get too trapped in lust just yet, 'cause hell she and the Peacekeeper have hardly done anything. There's so much left to do for her to pleasure him, and of course even from the dead he'll return that pleasure to her.
Kezaeh begins to peel her clothes off and tosses them aside haphazardly. Everyone's staring now, but Kezaeh still doesn't care.
She begins to remove her pants and shirt slowly, letting everyone watch. She smirks at some of the comments.
"...that looks really uncomfortable..."
"...can't imagine that it hurts..."
"...isn't that uncomfortable?"
"...it's better than having your ass chewed by your old man."
"...she's just gonna keep stripping."
"...it looks so weird."
Kezaeh ignores the comments entirely, focused solely on stripping down her body, leaving nothing but skin covered in her blood to the crowd.
"What do ya want me to do, huh?" She asks the Peacekeeper, "You wanna see some good shit? Well let me show you!"
"No way! We don't wanna know!" Someone calls out, "This is a horror show and we're gonna sit here and watch while you take this bitch apart."
"Oh come on, it'll be fine." Another adds,
"That sounds so wrong! This ain't supposed to happen! It's just a bit of pain!"
"No one wants to see this. Come on. Leave." An older lady shouts, but no one leaves.
Kezaeh continues to strip and remove her clothes, reveling in how much she could do to this poor thing, how much pleasure she can have with a simple touch. She removes her last article of clothing and stands before the shocked group of onlookers.
She starts laughing uncontrollably, doubling over with glee and ecstasy.
The others start talking amongst themselves.
"Why's she laughing so funny?"
"Is that a good thing?"
"Is that normal?"
"She's just crazy!"
"What the hell does she think she's doing?!"
"Shouldn't we tell somebody about what's happening?"
Twenty minutes later, when she pulls away from him, the Peacekeeper still remaining motionless on the ground and the blood still pooling around him from his wounds, she turns towards the crowd, grinning wildly, eyes glazed over with lust and excitement.
"How was that, eh? You enjoyed it, right?" She asks, "Well, I liked it more than you will. That was the first time I've had sex with someone after death, you see..." She explains, "Not many would know how much it sucks having sex while you're dead, yanno?"
There's silence throughout the area. The people standing in the audience simply stare at her and then at the corpse, completely speechless. Their jaws hang slack, they're frozen in shock. No one's said a word.
All they can do is continue to stare at her.
The crowd starts to scatter, some fleeing the scene, others running away. A few of them try to stand and make a break for it. Others remain sitting, unable to speak, unable to process what they were witnessing, what they heard, what they felt.
Kezaeh laughs again, grabbing her shirt from the floor as she walks towards them, making eye contact with them before she throws it back on. She picks up her jacket and slips it over her shoulders. She looks at everyone and smiles, waving goodbye to them and walking out the door, leaving the corpse on the ground behind her.
As she walks home, she wonders what her parents will think of the whole thing. Clearly she's just turned herself into Six's biggest pariah, but at the same time, she doesn't particularly care. She's just had the best sex of her life, after all. She's had it for days! Months! Years, actually!
Her heart races as she thinks of it. She feels a sudden surge of exhilaration.
If she's going to live forever, she might as well do something truly special, like killing another person! After all, if she's going to die one day, why not kill two birds with one stone?
It takes a moment for Kezaeh to realize she's humming quietly as she walks, her arms swinging idly by her side. Once she finally realizes she's humming, she immediately stops, embarrassed.
God, she's so fucked up.
She reckons she can never make love to a living person ever again. It'd be too awkward, and she probably would just end up crying anyway, so she figures she should stop. She knows it'll get her nowhere anyway. There's no point. Corpses are way more fun.
But even so, she keeps on humming.
She hums the whole way home.
She goes to bed feeling light and happy and ready for a night of sleep. Even though she's not tired anymore.
She has a lot of thinking to do.
She's still got a lot of thoughts.
A lot of things to figure out.
But mostly, she wants to kill again.
So she thinks about it. About killing again. About being able to kill again. She thinks of the love she'll make to the cadaver once she's done with it.
She thinks about how she wants to take her clothes off and show the world what she's hiding underneath.
She thinks about the ay he tasted, and how he smelt underneath her.
Kezaeh thinks about the smell of him.
The feel of his flesh.
The sound of herself moaning.
The taste of him on her tongue.
She thinks about everything about him. Everything about him she likes about him. Every single little detail. Everything about him that makes him beautiful to her.
Every part of him that makes her heart flutter.
Everything about him that makes her laugh.
Every part of him that makes her scream out loud.
Everything that makes her feel alive.
Every inch of him that makes her heart race.
Every drop of sweat that rolls down her face.
This can't be the last time Kezaeh does something like this.
This is just the beginning.
She can't wait to tell Waylen about it. That's her pet rat, Waylen. And no, no... Kezaeh doesn't fuck her pet rat. Necrophilia's one thing but she draws the line at beastiality.
Still, Waylen's a good listener even if he's... just a rat.
She holds the critter in her hand when she gets home and tells him, "You're never going to believe what I did today!"
Waylen yawns lazily.
"I killed someone."
She can hear Waylen perk up, turning his head curiously at her. He hops up on her lap as she sits there in the armchair in the dark living room.
He curls up in her hands, looking up at her with curious eyes.
She leans over, resting her elbows against her knees as she speaks, "I didn't just kill anyone. I killed a Peacekeeper!" She says excitedly.
Waylen blinks his eyes at her slowly.
Kezaeh laughs in delight and hugs the rat close to her chest, "Yeah! He was so hot! I couldn't look away! I wanted to touch his skin... I wanted to kiss him... I wanted him so much... Isn't that a smidge embarassing?"
She asks him, stroking his fur fondly, "Oh my god, I'm such a pervert." She says in an amused tone.
Waylen snickers happily and lays his head back down on her lap.
Kezaeh rests her chin atop his head.
"You think he'd appreciate this, do you?" She asks him, patting him affectionately on the side.
Waylen hisses, seemingly excited at the mere idea.
"Oh yeah?" She chuckles, "He deserves it, doesn't he?"
The rat looks up at her, seeming to say 'yes'. He nods his head vigorously.
"Good boy." She giggles, petting him softly once more. She smiles softly at him, leaning down and kissing his forehead.
There's a brief pause before she speaks again, asking Waylen, "Do you think I'm weird?"
Waylen looks up at her, blinking his eyes innocently. He tilts his head slightly, questioning.
"I mean... I think I am kind of different from everybody else." She answers, "I guess I don' know why but... I just feel different, ya know?"
Waylen purrs and wags his tail, looking up at her in response. He understands. Kezaeh understands. She's been through a lot and now she feels different.
Different but very much alive.
That's a good thing.
Because Kezaeh Wrenn doesn't expect people to like her after what she did in the town square. She can already hear them screaming at her as she walks along the streets, even if they don't understand her. Nobody understands her besides Waylen anyway.
She's different from everyone else so nobody understands her. At least, nobody outside her family, at least, nobody who really cares about her.
And maybe, as far as anybody else is concerned, she might be a bit weird for sure, but she isn't crazy or anything. Sure she may have just fucked a dead person in public, but who wouldn't do that for the thrill?
They had to have been somewhat into it if they kept watching! They had to have been into it at least a tiny bit!
They watched her and enjoyed the act.
It was just sex... right? Right?!
Nobody really cares about what happens between people after they're dead anyways. Who gives a damn what people think? So it's fine right?
Right!?
So maybe they weren't exactly into it but she didn't have to kill him, did she? Yeah... right!?
So, she shouldn't really care either. It wasn't her fault that she was attracted to him. Why should she care?
She doesn't fucking need to worry about what other people think because she doesn' fuckin care about what other people think. She's the only one who matters and she craves the feeling of blood on her hands.
All Kezaeh can do is hope there'll be time to spill more soon.
Perverted - Elita
Let's give it up for our second round of Tributes! I hope you all enjoyed hearing from Sterling, Aristo, and Kezaeh because the three of them were so much fun to write introductions for.
Thank you so much for all the reviews so far. You truly are the best readers a person could ask for.