The Crow's Nest

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gritted her teeth, stalking closer like a lion closing in on prey. Her expression got ugly. “There can’t be balance in this fucking head. Not yet. Not when survivor’s guilt reeks and electric grief crawls up your skin, building straits of blame. When I am not blamed for every wrong thing, then I will accept that her consciousness still lives. Breathes. Until then, you shut your pretty mouth about balance, mother.”

“You.. you two get that..” She sucked in a deep breath. “You two get that bra - girl under control. I refused to be part is her victim complex and pity fest. I am not the reason her parents are dead. I am not the reason she has no fucking control. I am-”

Cillian shut her month, her mouth wobbling in a similar manner Zoë’s did. Finally, words.

“Why are you smiling at me like that? Happy I admitted shit to you? Happy I broke?” She scoffed, plopping back down on the sofa. “Do you want your true child back?”

“What I meant is do you want to speak to Zoë?” Lilith’a touch lingered. It ghosted her shoulder. A weight she couldn’t shake. “Tu mihi places.”

—

All Cillian’s features melted away, Zoë’s popping up, similar to how night turns to day. She rubbed her eyes, as if she had been hibernating.

She bit her lip. Hard. This was a lost cause.

“And there, we see her in you.”

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gritted her teeth, stalking closer like a lion closing in on prey. Her expression got ugly. “There can’t be balance in this fucking head. Not yet. Not when survivor’s guilt reeks and electric grief crawls up your skin, building straits of blame. When I am not blamed for every wrong thing, then I will accept that her consciousness still lives. Breathes. Until then, you shut your pretty mouth about balance, mother.”

“You.. you two get that..” She sucked in a deep breath. “You two get that bra - girl under control. I refused to be part is her victim complex and pity fest. I am not the reason her parents are dead. I am not the reason she has no fucking control. I am-”

Cillian shut her month, her mouth wobbling in a similar manner Zoë’s did. Finally, words.

“Why are you smiling at me like that? Happy I admitted shit to you? Happy I broke?” She scoffed, plopping back down on the sofa. “Do you want your true child back?”

“What I meant is do you want to speak to Zoë?” Lilith’a touch lingered. It ghosted her shoulder. A weight she couldn’t shake. “Tu mihi places.”

—

All Cillian’s features melted away, Zoë’s popping up, similar to how night turns to day. She rubbed her eyes, as if she had been hibernating.

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gritted her teeth, stalking closer like a lion closing in on prey. Her expression got ugly. “There can’t be balance in this fucking head. Not yet. Not when survivor’s guilt reeks and electric grief crawls up your skin, building straits of blame. When I am not blamed for every wrong thing, then I will accept that her consciousness still lives. Breathes. Until then, you shut your pretty mouth about balance, mother.”

“You.. you two get that..” She sucked in a deep breath. “You two get that bra - girl under control. I refused to be part is her victim complex and pity fest. I am not the reason her parents are dead. I am not the reason she has no fucking control. I am-”

Cillian shut her month, her mouth wobbling in a similar manner Zoë’s did. Finally, words.

“Why are you smiling at me like that? Happy I admitted shit to you? Happy I broke?” She scoffed, plopping back down on the sofa. “Do you want your true child back?”

“What I meant is do you want to speak to Zoë?” Lilith’a touch lingered. It ghosted her shoulder. A weight she couldn’t shake. “Tu mihi places.”

—

All Cillian’s features melted away, Zoë’s popping up, similar to how night turns to day. She rubbed her eyes, as if she had been hibernating.

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gritted her teeth, stalking closer like a lion closing in on prey. Her expression got ugly. “There can’t be balance in this fucking head. Not yet. Not when survivor’s guilt reeks and electric grief crawls up your skin, building straits of blame. When I am not blamed for every wrong thing, then I will accept that her consciousness still lives. Breathes. Until then, you shut your pretty mouth about balance, mother.”

“You.. you two get that..” She sucked in a deep breath. “You two get that bra - girl under control. I refused to be part is her victim complex and pity fest. I am not the reason her parents are dead. I am not the reason she has no fucking control. I am-”

Cillian shut her month, her mouth wobbling in a similar manner Zoë’s did. Finally, words.

“Why are you smiling at me like that? Happy I admitted shit to you? Happy I broke?” She scoffed, plopping back down on the sofa. “Do you want your true child back?”

“What I meant is do you want to speak to Zoë?” Lilith’a touch lingered. It ghosted her shoulder. A weight she couldn’t shake. “Tu mihi places.”

—

All Cillian’s features melted away, Zoë’s popping up, similar to how night turns to day. She rubbed her eyes, as if she had been hibernating.

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gritted her teeth, stalking closer like a lion closing in on prey. Her expression got ugly. “There can’t be balance in this fucking head. Not yet. Not when survivor’s guilt reeks and electric grief crawls up your skin, building straits of blame. When I am not blamed for every wrong thing, then I will accept that her consciousness still lives. Breathes. Until then, you shut your pretty mouth about balance, mother.”

“You.. you two get that..” She sucked in a deep breath. “You two get that bra - girl under control. I refused to be part is her victim complex and pity fest. I am not the reason her parents are dead. I am not the reason she has no fucking control. I am-”

Cillian shut her month, her mouth wobbling in a similar manner Zoë’s did. Finally, words.

“Why are you smiling at me like that? Happy I admitted shit to you? Happy I broke?” She scoffed, plopping back down on the sofa. “Do you want your true child back?”

“What I meant is do you want to speak to Zoë?” Lilith’a touch lingered. It ghosted her shoulder. A weight she couldn’t shake. “Tu mihi places.”

—

All Cillian’s features melted away, Zoë’s popping up, similar to how night turns to day. She rubbed her eyes, as if she had been hibernating.

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gritted her teeth, stalking closer like a lion closing in on prey. Her expression got ugly. “There can’t be balance in this fucking head. Not yet. Not when survivor’s guilt reeks and electric grief crawls up your skin, building straits of blame. When I am not blamed for every wrong thing, then I will accept that her consciousness still lives. Breathes. Until then, you shut your pretty mouth about balance, mother.”

“You.. you two get that..” She sucked in a deep breath. “You two get that bra - girl under control. I refused to be part is her victim complex and pity fest. I am not the reason her parents are dead. I am not the reason she has no fucking control. I am-”

Cillian shut her month, her mouth wobbling in a similar manner Zoë’s did. Finally, words.

“Why are you smiling at me like that? Happy I admitted shit to you? Happy I broke?” She scoffed, plopping back down on the sofa. “Do you want your true child back?”

“What I meant is do you want to speak to Zoë?” Lilith’a touch lingered. It ghosted her shoulder. A weight she couldn’t shake. “Tu mihi places.”

—

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gritted her teeth, stalking closer like a lion closing in on prey. Her expression got ugly. “There can’t be balance in this fucking head. Not yet. Not when survivor’s guilt reeks and electric grief crawls up your skin, building straits of blame. When I am not blamed for every wrong thing, then I will accept that her consciousness still lives. Breathes. Until then, you shut your pretty mouth about balance, mother.”

“You.. you two get that..” She sucked in a deep breath. “You two get that bra - girl under control. I refused to be part is her victim complex and pity fest. I am not the reason her parents are dead. I am not the reason she has no fucking control. I am-”

Cillian shut her month, her mouth wobbling in a similar manner Zoë’s did. Finally, words.

“Why are you smiling at me like that? Happy I admitted shit to you? Happy I broke?” She scoffed, plopping back down on the sofa. “Do you want your true child back?”

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gritted her teeth, stalking closer like a lion closing in on prey. Her expression got ugly. “There can’t be balance in this fucking head. Not yet. Not when survivor’s guilt reeks and electric grief crawls up your skin, building straits of blame. When I am not blamed for every wrong thing, then I will accept that her consciousness still lives. Breathes. Until then, you shut your pretty mouth about balance, mother.”

“You.. you two get that..” She sucked in a deep breath. “You two get that bra - girl under control. I refused to be part is her victim complex and pity fest. I am not the reason her parents are dead. I am not the reason she has no fucking control. I am-”

Cillian shut her month, her mouth wobbling in a similar manner Zoë’s did. Finally, words.

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gritted her teeth, stalking closer like a lion closing in on prey. Her expression got ugly. “There can’t be balance in this fucking head. Not yet. Not when survivor’s guilt reeks and electric grief crawls up your skin, building straits of blame. When I am not blamed for every wrong thing, then I will accept that her consciousness still lives. Breathes. Until then, you shut your pretty mouth about balance, mother.”

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

“That sure woke her up. Little thing knows her anger is detrimental but refuses the power it gives. How silly.”

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

“And how do I keep my other half from stopping me? Maybe if she realizes what I’ doing, she’ll take nap. Probably won’t be happy to have guts in her teeth.”

She imagined dragging intestines out of a slashed stomach cavity, wary someone may take her food. The rip of thin muscles as she slid her teeth through the slimy organ. Chunks of flesh would wedge themselves between her teeth, sticking there like tough chicken or corn.

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.

“What do you want me to do? Hunt the people who hurt children? Hunt those who assault women? Tear them apart limb by limb? Come home bloody and mean?” Cillian knew the answer to that question. She smirked, then laughed.

She gripped her left forearm, grunting. This was embarrassing. Cillian never wanted to admit she was a plaything. She’d rather go back to her “father”, but it wasn’t an option.

“Harbinger. How do people find themselves? I’m no one.”

@impulsive-spitfire

“Course you wouldn’t be of help. What stops me from creating many thralls?” Cillian grumbled. It sounded like a dream come true - at least it should have. The numbing of her anger spooked her. The need for ripping out hearts and consuming lungs lessoned. Pain radiated as if she were being ripped of everything holding her together.

“Your daughter scolds me anytime I do something remotely morally incorrect… as if she is morally correct herself.” She scoffed. “I’m not sure I can properly create thralls now with the restriction of this home, even if most starved anyway. It was a free lunch when they collapsed.”

“It is my purpose of all things. I make thralls. Thralls to help usher this world into its darkest fate. They do everything needed of me. Those thralls also made delicious meals when not useful anymore. Who is to deny me my right, even if it is a little unconventional?”

She waved her hand, leaning in close. She showed her fangs. “You dark one aren’t as morally correct as you seem. You know the desire. The hunger.”

“It’s something that keeps me standing. If I don’t have that, then what is there? Even my horse has found purpose. I wish to tear someone’s skin away from the muscle.” She scoffed, avoiding the questions.