One foot in the cradle, one in the grave

“So what you’re telling me,” Patrik started, his voice raised to be heard above the music of Purgatory with his tenth drink in his hand.  “Is that downstairs in the basement is an illegal fighting ring?  How come I haven’t been in here before?”

“If something’s ‘illegal’, people are less prone to talk about.” Without the physical prowess of a vampire or werewolf, nor the funds to make any money gambling, Quincy isn’t the ideal patron for a fighting ring. But curiosity nipped at her, “Can’t say a fighting ring in this town would surprise me. Where’d you pick up the rumor?“

It can never be satisfied, the mind, never.

To succeed had become an obsession.

Your soul’s stained with my lipstick.

will you survive? no, darling, i will thrive.

She’s something odd and uncertain, half of her was made of stars, full of death and filled with light; her other half was made of scars, full of life and filled with darkness.

“Edit your life frequently and ruthlessly. It’s your masterpiece after all.”

i know i am celestial, but god, even stars die.

I am left unsatisfied and empty. It is a feeling that never seems to pass.