☥KAGED☥

If rage is blinding, then the satisfaction of satiated rage is sheer ecstasy. Your heart rolls around in your body and brings it everywhere; blood rushing, veins rolling, singing, dancing entwined with nerves beneath your skin. Everything is singing. Your grin is dancing over your face, crooked and twisting, lips agape and teeth dripping with thick, red clots. He is already gone. The sins linger in his body. 

You cut in and try to remove them, try to salvage what is left from the putridity of his actions in life. 

Knife squelch and tendon rip. Remove genitalia, remove eyes. Remove hands. All used in detriment. Nothing righteous ever came from his hands.

You cut in and pull out his teeth, stretch the muscles and rip slowly at the tongue, cutting the muscle bit by bit, watching how the blood flows back into his throat and pools there till you can't see your own fingers working in his cold mouth.

You want to bite in. Jagged teeth rending flesh away from bone, animal teeth spitting fat and intestine––but you don't want him in your mouth. It's his desire to be in the wanting mouth of a beautiful specimen. You will give him nothing of the sort.

Besides, Valentin is still watching you. He does not approve of cannibalism. It is not so easily washed from the material body. Instead, you shove the tongue in the puffy, open wound where his genitalia once hung. A pleasing and useless tongue.

"That's enough," Valentin says, places a firm hand on your shoulder, and pulls you away.

You stumble off and land backwards, bloody hands scraping across the freezing, wet cement. Your body is shaking. Animal bones want to pounce. But the humanity lingers in Valentin, slowly seeping into you, as animal greed drips out and pools, and is absorbed by the flood.

You didn't understand before; you thought you did, thought you comprehended the drive and will of Valentin. It made sense and you admired his flowers––the logic that gave his actions meaning.

It's enlightenment. Freedom. He brought you here, brought you to the garden. He pulled away the blinding sun to see the wilted underside of humanity. Roots of Eden's tree reaching for nutrients; blood in the soil. A man crawling out of a bar, sick with alcohol and false morals like leprosy on his brain, clutching a woman by the neck. Slowly dimming the glow.

If your hands cause you to sin, cut it off and throw them away –– if your lungs cause you to live, cut it off and throw them away.

No one listens in the alley. No one wanders its bleeding walls. No eyes blink in the molding mortar between the bricks, so you leave the body to festering rot, and trudge out, and crawl into his car covered in blood. The sickness creeps in; the stickiness, peeling blood in the shape of your fingerprints. It flecks off and falls onto the murmuring floor of his car.

You never saw anyone getting raped before. Like a statistic in your philosophy, your respect for humanity trembles and shrinks in on itself.

"Why did you take me out there?" You ask quietly, knowing the answer.

His hands tighten around the steering wheel, creaking leather against leather.

"I believe it is judicious for you to know what it is I do, so you have no delusions as to my nature... nor the nature of humanity," he says, staring pointedly at the road ahead.

It's not a full lie. 

"You're not telling me everything," you murmur––a whispering song. "For all your talk of duty... I can tell. it's pleasure that drives you more than anything. You won't even admit it."

Your fingers crawl over his, nails gently scraping over the back of his hand. Blood flakes off and falls into his lap. You shift in your seat, crawl up onto your knees, and lean over, shaking in the moving car. You say your prayer.

"You enjoy killing psychos. I think it's the only joy you get in life. I think death is your purpose for living," you hiss into his ear. "But you're still human. Desperately aching to be understood. Having me accept your runaway justice wasn't enough. You needed to inundate me in the pleasure of some sick fuck's blood."

You spit the last words. They land on his face. He flinches away, lips tightening, eyes piercing the road ahead.

"I've seen you work before. That loving passion you put into it, every blazing wound you wreak. I guess... it never registered before. You were right." You trail upwards, and the back of your fingers brush down the side of his face. "I needed to experience it myself to understand."

Rarely is Valentin ever lost for what to say; his elegance betrays the silence into knowledge. He doesn't want to admit to the truth of anything you've said, so it is better to say nothing at all.

You watch him for a moment more with dark eyes, lips parted in soft breaths, before collapsing back in your seat and sinking into the cushion. Your eyes flutter shut and you breathe deeply, relaxation like a heavy blanket coating you.

"I understand you, Valentin," you murmur, words slurred on your heavy tongue. "I understand."

You hold his hand. A lover reaching out over daises and wildgrass.

His intensity, boiling in the seat beside you, does not escape your notice in the passing yellow streetlamps. But you say nothing; you curl up in your seat, cheek pressed against the freezing car wall, and try to fall asleep in your skin of crusted blood.

~+~

Bodies are made to be consumed. Consumed and then consumed again. A tenfold consummation. God is crying out to you and you are not hearing it. God is on His knees travelling through the rough current of Valentin's arteries, begging you to come home. You have cut the tether of your mind––the frail, radio connection between creator and creation. God's pleas are pounding against your fingers.

"Does it feel good?" You whisper, breath across Valentin's face as you lay atop him in bed. "To be understood?"

He can barely answer. Barely strain a reply out from beneath your fingers. They rest against his throat, barely pushing and barely there, and yet a worthy vice for his mind all the same.

"I believe your assessment of human nature is... lacking," he says, words gritted behind gritted teeth.

Fingers slide down, frigid bone against burning, firey organs––larynx, esophagus, trachea. Soft and pliant like the raw meat harvested fresh from a wound.

"Tell me what it lacks, my dear," you murmur, entranced at the point where body meets body. Finger against bare chest.

"There is more to human desire than the will to be understood." His eyes search your absent expression, and tuck stray hairs behind your ear. His warm hand is cupping your freezing cheek. "There exists also the will to create... and the ability to love."

You practically jump at the chance to prove him wrong.

"Creation is but an exposition of the mind. Appreciators of art nothing but voyeurs to the artist. And the artist, that creator... desperately wants to be understood. Why else pry open your being to the cold eyes of the ignorant? Hoping to save them? That's pride," you hiss. "Do you feel pleasure when you cut yourself open and see your heat seep into the cold? Are you happy to be sharing your heat with the world?"

Your words are a garbled mess, stringing together like the fat that strings together your brain cells, little electrical pulses that lead nowhere. Thoughts crying out in muted desperation, choking on the afterimages of a man's blood on your hands. Clotted blood, freezing in the winter air, damming up your thoughts. You are drowning in it.

I AM YOUR FREEZING COLD.

He strokes your cheekbone with his thumb, staring into your eyes.

"Do not lose yourself, my love," he murmurs.

A prayer.

"I am not lost if I am within you," you reply, thought sinking into decay, sinking into veins––beating aorta the cavernous atrium the seeking ventricles. 

You want to cry with desperation. What you want is not something you will ever receive. Again you imagine the heat of his body evaporating into the midnight; hot, steaming blood on the cold cement. Bitter gravel and sweet iron cells against your wanting tongue. The freezing cold and warmth.

"Lost in my lungs," he says. He is still searching your eyes.

YOU ARE MY PASSION FIRES.

"Lost everywhere within you," you say with a smile. "No, your proposition is not correct. What you've given me are results clouded by optimistic desire. But... they are rooted elsewhere. Creation is pride and still desire to be known. And love..."

He raises his brows expectantly, subtly. You barely notice. He is wanting your answer.

"Love is consuming," you whisper, in broken voices, breaking voices in your hands that clatter and tear down your bookcases and lamps and tapestries.

You are warming your freezing hands on his neck and he is sighing in relief. Succor for his fever. Relief for your joints aching with the cold.

"When you love bread, and fruit, you eat it," you say, knuckles just below his jaw. "You pick beautiful flowers and they die. You love your movies and television, your books and poetry... and it's called consuming content-–because you eat it, digest it, and spit it back out as refuse and filth, a mangled and misunderstood thing. You love someone... you eat them from the inside out. Consume their love and thoughts and bodies. Eat their hearts. Cut them out..."

Your body is shaking from the cold. Your hand against his throat is not enough. No longer can you hold yourself above him; your arms, aching from the cold, collapse and weaken, and his searing heat catches you from below. Skin against his skin. It is burning you and you love it, you sink into it, you tremble again and shake and wish you could shudder forever in his arms like a broken doll unable to wind up again. He brings the thin blanket over your shoulders. His arms encase you and the heat spreads. The blood clots are unfreezing, melting, and slowly thought leaks back into your head.

You are crying out to God and He is not hearing it because He is inside you within you pulsing within you and He is too busy keeping you alive and keeping you warm. Valentin has tied a knot between two frayed ends of a cord plugged into the wall. 

Falling Raining down like stardust the mercy of His love we ask Do you love me? And there is no answer no answer but knowing we are known

God is wrapping you up in His arms like a child swaddled by its mother. God is pressing His lips to your forehead and silently removing the last flecks of dried blood, and God is not telling you that you missed some spots while cleaning yourself up, and God is not telling you that the sight of you on your knees before death made him cry. Valentin will never tell you that the sight of you on your knees before your kill made him cry.

Valentin wraps you up in his arms and kisses you over and over. You continue to shiver against him––that aching cold transfers to his wounded heart as you slowly warm up––and deaf fingers roam up and down his waist, tracing like lace skeins of frost. They melt and drip into sweat as you drift lower down his stomach, then up to his chest––touch that melts off his body, rounds into pearls, and drops into God. He shivers with you. He presses into you, mumbling, wanting, and desiring. His mouth is ready to consume, ready to be consumed.

His lips are soft but they are not as warm as his hands. They press first into your neck, pulling in, skin between teeth as arteries roll around and veins pull like harp strings beneath the weight. Your eyes roll back into your head, lungs sucking in a sharp, frigid breath.

"I love you, my dear," he whispers, through tears and wounds, words burning your chest as his teeth crawl down, mouth still wanting and open.

You tug on what your numb fingers can grasp. Strong, rounded shoulders and thick braids. Rough claws over jawbone and clavicle.

"You feel it, don't you?" You say in a shaking voice. "Desire that is consuming that is greed."

He pulls away, shadowed eyes piercing you.

"And you love that you are wanted," Valentin says, fingers digging into your bare skin. "It does not cross your mind whether I desire you in gentle or violent ways. It is only that you are wanted at all that, to you, is of importance." His grip lessens, and a glimmer of dim, bunker light shines in his gaze. "That worries me, my love."

"It shouldn't," you say.

"And yet it does," he says. "Do you not have anything to say to quell my fretting heart?"

You eat the truth down, chewing around the bitter dregs and wondering what mottled things to spit out.

Instead you reach up, run your hand over the side of his skull, feel the shaved hair and the warmth of his face, and cradle it like it is the galaxy contained within the white calcium of human bone.

You are crying now. It is so cold.

"Do you understand me?" You ask in broken glass shards, clenched in your grasping palm. Trembling like a dog with paws frozen to the middle of a street.

You are just the same––you are desperate to be known, to be understood. You peel open your ribcage and hope desperately that Valentin feels the same desire to curl up in the ventricles of your beating, aching heart. 

But he does not. His love for you does not shatter the earth like yours does. Despite his monstrosities in life such sins do not reach his heart, he is pure and his love is pure and it is nothing but warmth and softness, and it breaks your fucking heart.

Beneath it all a wretched guilt. Blood stains your hands. You scrubbed for fifteen minutes till the raw scratched skin was as red as the blood of the man you killed, and you wonder, sobbing, if Valentin will ever forgive you for falling, if his mercy extends to the damned souls he hunts, if there is a reason or an excuse in his mind that pardons you from the avenging will of God. But deep down you know you don't care about God's mercy or His will or even His love. Valentin, shining halo Valentin, with crooked, blood-stained fur wings––Valentin and his green, Eden-filled eyes––he is all you care about.

You bawl and choke on your own cruel tears and keen and claw desperate in your hope that if you are pathetic enough he might take pity on you. It is being ripped from your vocal cords and you cannot say anything else.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

That aching, desirous prayer echoes back to you vacant of its origin and you hear it for what it is––a selfish, egoistical, grasping appetite that will never be satiated no matter how full you stuff your mouth with Valentin's love and sense.

You are a starving, rabid thing. Flesh pulled taut over bone. Shards poking through the skin. Your body is made to be consumed.

You think yourself a broken, sharp thing. Cutting Valentin's heart into pieces.

The two of you had chosen a prime spot, secluded away from society deep within the woods. It was close enough to his home that it wouldn't take long to return, but far enough away that, those who didn't already know where he lived, wouldn't be able to find it. An abandoned cabin perhaps wasn't the most romantic spot to hold a wedding; Ronin found it absurdly amusing. You didn't care. The forest surrounding you was in its' early bloom, the cool vestiges of winter clinging to the buds of spring.

Recently given to the woods, the structure had yet to grow dilapidated, with the insides still well-preserved from the elements. Vines and thorned leaves had just barely begun to crawl up the edges of the outer walls. With a little sweeping and dusting, preceded by a little breaking-and-entering, it was a suitable place for you and V to dress in your respective outfits.

Valentin, as much as he proclaimed to be happy, had the most miserable look on his face.

"Y'know, traditionally, the bride n' groom aren't supposed to see each other before the ceremony," Ronin drawled from the next room.

"No one said anything about this being a 'traditional' wedding, Ronin," said Angel, her voice quieter and more muffled from the wall between you. 

"Indeed. This is quite an untraditional ceremony, in fact," said Vince.

"Pff. You guys are no fun. Personally, I'd love to get them apart. Dig into their little brains on this 'special day'," Ronin said, and you could imagine his pouting lips at the end.

Then came his voice––clear and deep, like low pipe organs echoing in an empty church.

"Why do you bother yourself with listening to them?" Valentin asked.

You turned around from the wall, facing V, who was looking at himself in a large, floor-length mirror. His suit, like everything else about him, was well-manicured and fit precisely for him. The black of his coat was a rich shade and accentuated his waist and shoulders, while his trousers fit perfectly around his hips, and cut off just above his ankles. Just over his shoulder you could spy his face in the mirror, and the way he fixed his bowtie with long, nimble fingers.

"I'm curious," you said. "Ronin seems to be rather critical of the whole ordeal."

"He would be," V growled. 

He pulled one end of the bow too tight, and set the whole thing off balance. He groaned, arms falling to his sides in a show of exasperation.

"Let me help," you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He turned round and his expression softened, a quiet smile appearing as he warmed himself on your glowing face. You smiled in return and set to work correcting his tie.

"It's very nice of you to let everyone attend," you said.

"I didn't let them. They all invited themselves."

"Well, you allowed it to happen anyway," you chuckled.

"I cannot believe that... abomination walking in human skin is going to be the best man for my wedding," V seethed. "Not to say he will be in the same area as you. I loathe the mere idea. If my wish were truth the two of you would never meet."

"If that were so, I wouldn't meet you either," you pointed out. "And besides, Ronin is the closest thing you have to a friend."

"Ronin is a criminal and a pollution upon the earth. To consider him a friend is to consider my life a failure."

You couldn't help but laugh.

"I wouldn't worry about it. I said he's the closest thing you have to a friend, not that he is your friend," you said.

"Regardless, it isn't an accurate statement. You should know better. You are my friend. My... 'best friend', as they say," he said softly.

You smiled up at him, finished with fixing his bowtie.

"You're my best friend, too," you said.

Even now on the verge of a marital ceremony, he blushed at your words, his face blooming into a warm colour.

"I am pleased we can agree on that," he said with a smile.

The final touches of Valentin's outfit were ones you insisted on. He had, at first, assented to them, but upon realizing that Ronin would be attending, quickly rescinded his agreement. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to accept once more.

He sat, facing you, as you placed flowers along his braids, tucking the stems in so only the petals showed. Atop his head you styled a garden, filled with rosebuds and blooming white daisies. Rows of white, gold, and crimson.

When you finished, he looked properly fantastical––as though he had stepped out of a dream, glowing in the rays of sunlight stretching through the dusty windows. He spun in front of the mirror, checking each piece of his suit, flattening his lapels before puffing out his chest. As traditional as his outfit was compared to yours, you couldn't help but stare enamoured at him.

He turned to you with a smile, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

"Are you ready, my love?" He asked, tilting his head toward you.

"Ready as ever," you breathed out, grinning.

"Very well. Luca will come for you when we are ready. I shall go now, and... see to things. Try not to listen into our conversations, alright?"

You chuckled and nodded.

"I'll do my best," you said. 

The door hinges creaked and the wood groaned as he opened and shut the door behind him. The silence he left you in was near deafening. 

When you were young, you had imagined your wedding and who your partner would be. Out of all the different variations your mind had supplied you with, you had never pictured getting married to a vigilante serial killer in an abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods. You supposed life was funny like that. Still, you wouldn't want it any other way; your marriage would be as strange as you were, so you considered it a fitting end.

A few minutes later, Luca knocked at the door, and with your permission locked arms with you.

"Ready for your big day?" He asked, wiggling his brows.

"I'm dressed, aren't I?" You chuckled.

"Yeah. You look great, by the way. Can't believe you're getting married before me and Felicie," he said.

"You did say you wanted to take things slowly," you pointed out.

"Yeah, but not so slow that you and V, who got together after us, may I point out, would get married before us," he joked.

"Such is life, my friend," you laughed. "Now are you going to walk me down the aisle or not?"

"Of course. Jus' had to get a few of my thoughts in first."

"Of course."

You smiled and the door opened, revealing the green meadow just beyond the cabin, where all your friends stood in waiting. At the end, beneath an archway entwined with vines and flowers, stood Valentin in his suit, his hands folded in front of him and a soft smile beaming in his eyes. Standing at his side was Ronin, smug as ever in fitting attire. Angel, Felicie, and Misaki, the maids of honor (and wrath, as Misaki requested they be referred as) stood on the other side of the arch. In the center was Vince––still hiding his identity behind a mask.

Angel pulled out her phone, tapped it a few times, and music began to play. Some quiet piano piece. Something V had likely picked out. Luca took you down the faux aisle of flowers, and upon delivering you to the altar, took his place standing beside Ronin.

You stared up at Valentin, heart pounding, and took his hands. For a moment the world seemed to fade into the early sunset, veins of gold and red speckled through the forest leaves like freckles on his face.

"Dearly beloved friends," Vince began, his voice uncharacteristically deep and rough for the speech, "we are gathered here, for the first time, to celebrate the union of two of our... slaughterhouse losers. It is a joyous occasion and I am honoured to be officiating. While this may, in some way, be a marriage of convenience, we have all watched the love grow between V and (Y/N) over the last few months. I am sure they will have many happy, bloody days ahead of them."

Valentin pursed his lips in irritation, but said nothing. You giggled.

"Now we will listen to their vows, which I know will be as titillating as they are romantic. You may proceed."

V sighed roughly, straightening his jacket subtly.

"I do not wish to speak my vows aloud in front of the present company. However... in the interest of ceremony..." he groaned, pursing his lips again, "... I will say... something."

You gave a small nod, gently urging him on.

"... I... love you, (Y/N)," he said as though it was painful. 

Behind him, Ronin was positively beaming.

"This, to me, is no marriage of convenience. I fully intend on pledging my life and soul to you." He paused. "That is all."

Quiet giggles sounded from behind you.

"Ever the romantic," you said, earning only more laughter from your friends. "Indeed, we are surrounded by people whose names we do not fully know. Who do not know our names, either. And, indeed, this ceremony was hurried. For that we have the police and their idiotic search to thank. But... it is brought forth by your kindness, V. You spared the server––people you claimed to hate––and sacrificed yourself to this. I hope that my presence with you as you go into hiding is solace––some consolation in return for your act of selflessness. Each day in your presence is a gift. I look forward to our many years together as I do each second that I am able to stand with you, in peace, content to know the sensation of true love. That is to say... I pledge my life and soul to you, too."

In the presence of the server members, V kept his composure quite well––but the shine in his eyes, apparent only to you, gave away the loving turmoil within. He slipped a pale golden ring over your finger––you settled a diamond-embedded ring over his. You barely processed Vince's final words before the two of you came together, soft touch upon softer lips, spirit intermingling with body as you kissed. He pulled you in, passion brimming at his fingertips but never released. You kissed and pulled away, and stared into one another. Therein was your home.

A crackling gunshot bolted through the air and you jumped, hand whizzing up to grip V's upper arm.

"What the fuck?!" Misaki yelped.

"Ronin!" Angel yelled, fists at her side.

"What?" He said, still holding a smoking gun pointed towards the sky. "'S a shotgun wedding, ain't it?"

"Technically speaking, a shotgun wedding occurs when the bride is pregnant before marriage, and the bride's father threatens the groom with a gun to marry the pregnant daughter," Vince said.

Ronin shrugged.

"Close enough," he said.

"Not close enough," Angel said, storming over and yanking the gun out of his hand. "Don't pull any more bullshit or I'll shoot you in the foot."

"Pff. I don't have anything else planned. Besides, I think it made the day more... special," he said, smiling at you.

V held you tighter.

"The sun has almost set. Now is the time to throw your bouquet," Vince said.

"Oh, right," you mumbled.

You turned, taking the bouquet of flowers from Angel. It was a smattering of wildflowers and exotic flowers V grew in his bunker, creating a palette of dark green leaves and pale purple, white, and blue petals.

Misaki, Angel, and Felicie excitedly gathered behind you. 

"Ready?" You asked, grinning all the while.

"We are ready!" Felicie said.

With that you threw the bundle of flowers behind you, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes of a more blind throw. A few gasps sounded around you. When you opened your eyes, you found the bouquet stuck in the branches above you. Your eyes widened. Then, with a gentle breeze, the branches stirred and dropped the bouquet. It fell through the air and landed directly on Luca's face, falling into his arms as he spluttered from the pine needles and leaves.

Silence settled over the entire gathering for several seconds before everyone devolved into laughter, Ronin's cackling sounding about it all.

"Oh my God," Luca said, spitting out the last pine needle. 

"Ha!" You laughed, "looks like you'll be getting married after all, Luca."

"No," he said, "looks like Felicie will be getting married."

With a dramatic swoop of his arms, he knelt down in front of Felicie, and with faux tears in his eyes offered the bouquet to her.

"For you, my dearest beloved," he said, clutching his heart.

"I hate you," Felicie said in a pained voice.

"You love me."

"You wish."

You watched them bicker with much delight, returning to lean against Valentin's sturdy frame. His arm wrapped around and settled his hand on your waist–-a comforting warmth in the cool of the coming evening.

The rest of the evening was spent around a fire eating less than lavish food, the former courtesy of Ronin and V's teamwork, and the latter supplied by Misaki and Angel. You considered going to a restaurant for the last time before going into hiding, but all of you together was a mite suspicious, especially considering Vince's reluctance in taking off his mask. V mostly kept quiet and stayed dutifully at your side, socializing little and eating even less. At times a snide remark would slip out of his lips and delight the surrounding company. Such moments were especially entertaining for Ronin, who took a special joy in teasing V. Otherwise, you enjoyed your last day of socialization, imprinting each moment into your memory for safekeeping. It was likely the last time all of you would gather together.

In the end, they all parted in separate directions. Only when the last of them had gone did V deem it safe to return home, carrying you bridal style to his car. The drive was short enough, and he decided to carry you further into your now-shared home, only setting you down when he reached the couch. He quietly locked the door before returning to you.

Some of the flowers had fallen out of his hair, but the majority of them remained, partly wilted but still bright in colour. For a little while the two of you sat in silence staring at each other.

Then he broke the spell, gaze falling to his lap as he spoke.

"I, um... I did prepare my true vows. I just... did not wish to speak them in the company of serial killers," he said quietly.

"I understand," you chuckled. "You want to say them now?"

"If you are not too tired, I would like to, yes," he said.

You nodded. He gave a curt nod in return, and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket. His eyes flickered from the paper to you, and he cleared his throat, nerves ringing in the silence.

He began.

"My dearest love... there are a great many evils in this world. Each person one meets carries this within them––the mark of failed morality, and we are, each of us, in some way tainted by our decisions. Long ago I lost hope for humanity. We are an animal species, untamed by our supposed society. Feral despite our religion, our understanding; and our connection to both divinity and impiety, our free will to choose, has proven without fail that given the opportunity, humans will choose to fall. Why this is I cannot say. It is only what I know to be true." 

He paused, glancing up to make sure you were still paying attention. 

You were. He continued. 

"Just as all creatures do, you, too, have faced such decisions; the choice between goodness and cruelty, oppression and kindness. Just as all creatures have, you have experienced cruelty against you––injustice and wickedness from the blackened hearts of humanity. It is all too easy to mirror such actions when they are done unto you. Yet despite that you have chosen kindness, even when it is more facile to turn to brutality. Trust when it is more comfortable to doubt. And... love, when it is easier to abandon."

He reached out, fingers barely touching your hand. You reached the rest of the way and held his hand in yours. He swallowed thickly.

"It is an odd phrase to thank you for loving me. Still, it feels appropriate. I am not an easy man to love. I scantly admit it but I am, indeed, a killer––even with my just reasonings and my logic, I have committed myself to a lifestyle that has marked me both an outcast and a criminal to common society. I long ago gave up the ideal of having a beloved. Such is the cost of justice." He set the paper down and looked you in the eyes, taking your other hand in his. "You are my revelation. My salvation. You are some divine gift, some salve to my poisoned way whose justice comes at the price of my life. But no longer. You are my life, now. Above all it is my duty to protect you. As the ribcage protects the heart, I will shelter you from harm. As compassion safeguards life, so shall I keep you. A beacon of hope. Hope that... perhaps... humanity is salvageable. That my bitter contempt was wrong. It is my wish thusly to be with you, as long as you will have me, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death do us part––till we meet again in our next life, to love one another once more."

You could barely breathe. As you expected, his vows were long, the words meandering. He often spoke like that when it met his fancy. But the sincerity behind it, coupled with the shining, stray tears brimming his eyes––it broke you down into your purest parts, shattered about the floor till only the glowing soul remained seated in his hands.