"See no evil. Speak no evil. Listen carefully."
A family akin to a modern Adams' Family moves into the derelict house across the street from Kota. Intrigued by the beautiful doll-like daughter, he and Nathan attempt to befriend her while trying to u...
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• Rue •
Death is the end of all that is, but what still remains after death is nightmarish at best.
I can barely remember the last time I felt such anxiety in my chest. At the beginning of our tale, yes, I felt it all the time. It once was my constant companion despite my never ending attempts at tethering who I truly was to this world through many acts against our tormentor. Every time I went to disobey or tamper with his wicked art, my heart would race in my chest and my neck would be dripping with cold sweat. When that anxiety turned into mere day to day life, was a blurry occurrence. One day I simply realized this was my normal and that's all there was to it. It creeped up on me so slowly I didn't notice I'd lost a piece of myself until it was far too late to retrieve it. It died in a past I couldn't go back to and left me withering in the present.
Apparently this part of me wasn't entirely lost because I feel like I'm trapped in a corner with no way out. How did this happen?
Methuselah of proper bloodlines and breeding get their own horde, not experiments from the hills like I. My rebirth, my undeath, is likely the most unconventional in recorded history. I can't even begin to wrap my head around this gift I've been granted. And yet this gift too feels like a curse, a bittersweet taunting lie that'll be snatched away from me within the span of a single moment.
There is no other less deserving of a horde than I am. I'm a blight on this world, someone who couldn't even prevent the nightmares so many were subjected to for centuries. When I first became what I am and heard of the Cadavers, instantly I brushed it off as improbable. The more time that passed, the more this became my truth, proven by the absence of hope in my bleak existence.
To realize and accept that the reason I'd never been gifted a horde was because they hadn't even been born yet, that that was the reason all along and not my unnatural existence - is overwhelmingly terrifying. It's impossible, improbable, unnatural, and unfair to all the Methuselah more deserving than I. I deserve nothing less than torment and death.
I deserve every thread of misery weaved into my life.
"Rue?"
A dulcet as warm as sunlight wafts through my thoughts, tugging me away from the sinking torrent I want nothing more than to bury myself deep within. I find myself looking up, away from Gabriel's hands holding mine in my lap. Gabriel, the one who has more reason than the others to loathe me as much as I do. I taunted him, played with his sanity, secretly craving to break his mind in a moment of weakness. The more I starve, the more my sinister instincts creep forward. I didn't even think when I'd done that. I merely desired to play and no rational thought could penetrate that desire at the time. And yet, Gabriel remains by my side, a silent companion and a tether of strength keeping me grounded every time I begin to drift away.
