unyielding--blackâ:
It said something about their dueling personalities that Fabian could be speaking about his demonic pursuits in that strange, new colorless tone of his all whilst calling her sister in the same breath, and yet only one of the two remarks could prompt her lip to curl in disgust. Sheâd never understand how someone who bore all the same features as Gideon could inspire such profound depths of loathing within her. From the unruliest of dark curls to every last freckle dotting their noses, they were the spitting image of one another, and still, Bellatrix couldnât reconcile their differences. Where she drew strength and a sense of stubborn fondness in Gideonâs presence, she consistently came up with nothing short of a number of piling resentments where Fabian was concerned, as though she were gathering bitterness from an infinite well of rage that was eager to spill over in chaotic fashion.Â
Oh, but it did spill over. It still is.
Bellatrix released a small dribble of smoke from her mouth, expression souring. âThereâs not enough holy water in the world to wash my hands clean, brother, I can promise you that. Iâm just curious to know what you get up to in the odd hours of the night. You donât usually bury your dead one day and have them slinking around for souls the next. I like knowing what Iâm up against.â
Their eyes briefly met as he turned to glance her way and she cocked her head at the veiled dig. âIs that a threat?â Something like laughter rumbled in the back of her throat as she carelessly flicked ash off her cigarette and took another lazy drag, â⊠Iâd have thought the humbling experience of choking on your own blood wouldâve taught you a lesson or two on how to curb your tongue. Suppose itâs true what they say, then. You can lead a horse to water â or in this case an ass â but you canât make the damned thing drink.âÂ
There was a distinct grimace of distaste that appeared upon his face as Fabian brushed a palm over the dusty wood the end of one of the pews before settling down upon it and kicking his feet up onto the back of the one in front. He glanced absently across the aisle towards the blaze of her cigarette before regarding the vaulted ceiling with a wrinkled nose. âOh, Iâm sure youâre terribly curious where I go and what I do and who I talk to and how much they know â you always were such a paranoid thing. Paranoid and jealous and messy. Forever wanting to know mine and my brotherâs business as if it was any concern of yours.â
 He sniffed, recounting with stark clarity the hauntingly gruesome details of his death like a vulture picking over the carcass of something that used to be a person, remembering vividly the bubble of blood in his throat and more than anything the surprise. Heâd been surprised, in spite of it all. Somehow that particular fact still grated upon him.
âThere are far worse things in hell and on earth than your talents with a corkscrew,â he replied after a pronounced silence, the heel of his shoe thumping erratically against the pew before him as he considered the quandary of meeting quotas and council agendas and a brother whoâd come back wrong even by the shoddiest of demonic standards. If only Hell had done the job properly and stripped away his familial loyalty with all the rest of his cleaner edges he might have left behind this particular worry. And yet. âYouâd do well to remember that, Trixie. My business is my business. If you insist on following me every which way I go people might start to wonder why.â



















