* CARPE NOCTEM *

Die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. Forgive and love or watch as your sin comes around in a new form. The words were meant for both me and the man I spend my nights with, both of us on the different sides of the same coin. It makes me contemplate, hearing a clock tick, but there is no clock here. No, not down here.

I tilt my head, careful not to allow my own wrath to consume my very being, igniting something that would burn out of control. My own test. And I realize the ticking is coming from my jaw, the words finding refuge there to avoid the sharp tip of my silver tongue. My words are like bullets, and I always preferred the personal touch of a blade over the gracelessness of a gun. Guns didn’t teach lessons.

I guess you could say they never got the point across.

My burgundy lips are twisting, a dark sneer that I had learned from the best of the best. And I feel as if it is his hand that’s guiding my actions, his tattooed digits tracing the coolness of my skin as if I was a marionette, but I am so much more. I am my own being, my own actions, my own existence.

I am my own Herald.

I wonder if that makes her heart beat faster, knowing that no other will interfere, she’s in my domain. Joseph wouldn’t even dare to put his hand upon the scales, refusing to taint the will of God because Judgement is sacred. A ritual that must be done right or else we pay the price. A soft hand or the steel of my knife, each calculation is accurate and precise, one wrong call and it unravels the bonds we weave for ourselves.

Rolling my neck, I can feel the tightening of an imaginary snake around my neck, it's comforting hissing and flicking tongue in my ear, and I swear I can feel just the slightest scratch of his beard. He’s not here, but I feel him.

You must always face your demons.

There’s hesitation within me when I swore that there would be none, a slight sliver of doubt piercing the insides of me, because I’m not sure if I can do this clearly. Fairly. A delicate line between revenge and vengeance and it has woven itself around my fingers, arms, entangling all the way down my spine. There should be metal there, but I fear that it’s only the thread keeping me standing straight.

I am alone.

Doing this on my own is an important feat. A necessary one that I take seriously. Perhaps a rite of passage, but I feel like I’m on the precipice of falling, or diving, and it steels my resolve. My dark heels click against the concrete floor, echoing against the harsh walls that match the harsh glow of light. I remembered my first time in this room, my shirt ripping apart as if it were nothing, fear pumping into my veins with just enough adrenaline. A toxic cocktail of endorphins, but I can practically taste the bitterness of her anger as she glares from her chair.

It’s exciting, almost. Oh god, the absolute thrill and I return her glare, because I am alone. Nobody is coming to save her, and I am the only way out for her. It doesn’t sway her actions, her feelings, for she is still so encompassed with loathing. She can’t see what is in front of her. What her pride has done to those around her, and I’m suddenly ready to pass my Judgement by just the slight reminder of her horrid actions. I still feel the warm blood on my hands and the tears that flowed that night. I want her blood in return, eye for an eye.

I swallow and shove what I can to the side, keeping what remanence of the control I had left. I rub my hands against the tight black pants, a wishful thought of them helping to hold me in place as I take another step forward. Her eyes follow, and I’m sure she means to be threatening with the look in her eyes, but I feel like laughing at her. The poor thing is tied and gagged, what threat was she? I fight the urge to rip the tape from her mouth just for the satisfaction of causing some sort of pain.

Reaching her, I rest my knee on her chair next to her leg and she jerks away. I have to fight the laugh because she’s ridiculous. Always acting like a child, always so damn selfish. I click my tongue, the organ finally rising to the occasion because I am done being silent. The words are screaming, clawing at the insides and I’m shocked that I have yet to spit blood upon her face out of spite.

I grab her face instead, and god, the relief I feel for it. The black nails pressing against her flesh, indents around my fingers. I feel the sweat, and I’m not shocked. This room was always a bit hot, and I was ready to remove the black button up to cool the hot skin underneath, but I thought better of it. It was almost a relief to feel the sponge against my chest so long ago, John showing me he was willing to give, but I won’t give her the blessing of reprieve. I am not merciful; I am not here to love her.

“I heard you refuse to Confess.”

My words, finally freed, are low and oh so soft. Had it been anyone else, my voice would have been a caress, comforting enough for them to come closer. But she knows better, and I can tell that from the way she’s looking at me, that I am nothing but a demon to her. A traitor who hid her horns so well that it was her sins that had to reveal them. And that’s fine. I’ll be whatever she wanted me to be.

I’ll be what I had to be.

A demon for her, a righteous Judge for them.

A whore of Babylon or The Baptist’s wife.

Nemesis.

So many crowns, thrones even, and no matter how heavy, I stood tall with my head held high as they all fell to my feet with praise or with blood in their mouths. I would protect my flock from the poison of those who slither in the shadows, spouting lies upon lies and destroying whatever was in their path. I almost pitied them.

Almost.

“You know that my Judgement comes after the Confession, don’t you dear?”

I’m taunting her and her eyes burn brighter. It’s answered with my nails piercing through her skin, blood pooling just a bit, and I hear her grunt of pain. She’s underestimating my rage, her betrayal. Her actions have spoken more than her lips ever could, so it’s fine. But the urge to make her feel something, to show just how scared she should be, is getting the better of me. Perhaps my wrath wasn’t contained, and I find it hard to feel regret for it. But I just smile, baring my teeth.

The scales have tipped, even if they were just a bit crooked to begin with.

Lowering myself, my lips find her ear. If I listen closely, perhaps I could hear the ghost of her beating heart pumping in her empty void of a chest. A falsity to make her seem more human than puppet, but we both know that it's wood underneath this skin. She was nothing but a mere tool at his disposal, and I had every intention of breaking it.