༺ ♰ 𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 && 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 . ༻

⋅˚ † ₊‧ the further and further she spoke, the more that festered. the young girl had become quite the interpersonal criminal; the engraved boundaries that her benevolent hands overswung had been copious. syllable after syllable left her sodden lips, and the wolf within kept brewing. it gnawed at the cage, wishing to release itself upon the poor soul that had only recently succumb to the idea of satan. perhaps satan was truly among the world, and perhaps it's the very man in charge of the holiest town in the nation of america. his arms cross. his dark eyes stare with loathing.

⋅˚ † ₊‧ the relationship toward his daughter was a tumultuous one. on one hand, she was a pawn. if the devil had just the right grip on the puppet, he could twist her and maneuver her in a way that propped up his abilities as a father. it's rather difficult at this present time - her transition was making this test of personal faith extremely arduous. how could clay prove to himself that he is a man if he can't even keep his fucking daughter a son?! eyes paint her face. they dart with a firm expedition, gleaning in every piece of information. her emotion, her puffy cheeks, the smudges that he couldn't get off of because of her struggles. it was disgusting just looking at her. if only the puppet strings weren't so thick, if only the puppet itself wasn't so free, it could work better.

⋅˚ † ₊‧ the coin flips and out comes the truth: clay never wanted her. it was a fucking disgrace to fuck bloberta. he let her touch him. her let her pleasure him. it was the worst moment of his life; he was so drunk that he remembers seeing double of her hideous face. but each second of conception brought on a deeper, more raw pain. why didn't he like sleeping with her?! and why did he even do it in the first place?! now he has a family that he never wanted the responsibilities of taking care of. brows knit as thoughts stumble, ramble, and squirm. eyes twitch.

⋅˚ † ₊‧ they dart between orel's face, orel's hair, orel's make-up smudges, and analyze the way she continues to hold herself. maybe she really is a girl. standing there so pitiful and disappointed. an emotional, young lady. hands tap on his arm, fingers smacking exposed skin as more fervent, rambunctious emotions became known. the wolf was held back by the society that's eyes locked into him. but if it was home...

⋅˚ † ₊‧ "you've broken just about all of my rules, orel. i seriously don't know what's gotten into you." though clay never wanted orel, deep down there is a part of her that is very, very special to him. the shining light that he could make. a piece of god right in front of him. albeit, she continues to disappoint. then again, how can one ever tempt the devil himself with anything other than a killing vice? "at least you told me what your mother was doing. i'm going to have to chat with her, too."

⋅˚ † ₊‧ head shakes as words fall from his saintless lips. not an inch of redemption is left in this man's body. the pain dealt toward everyone had taken its toll, especially to the young, bruised and beaten lamb before him. tending such a benevolent, impressionable young child needs gentle, calming hands. ones that guide and alleviate the pressure of growing. instead, clay's hands lead with an overwhelming grip that brought out the absolute worst in her.

⋅˚ † ₊‧ "i guess the real lesson here is god's disappointment, orel." countenance is still riddled with grotesque disapproval. but at least there is a semblance of hope. a tinge of belief. the undeniable mocking that life continues to smear across clay made the idea of his daughter remaining loyal uncanny, yet there was still an idea left in clay. something that could garner his kid's attention. "it's a duty to us christians to be as godly as possible, young man. and if you can't be like god, then you might as well not even be a christian! why even...