Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd

Nor hell a Fury

The sun still shone overhead, amplified through carefully constructed technology to mimic the reach of the sun's rays way off on Earth, though it was not all too long before the first fingers of the night began to reach their way across the sky. It was a cosy sort of temperature, the sort that was made for lovers enjoying lakeside walks hand in hand, and cups of tea brewed and shared with those that set hearts all aflutter. It was a lovely day, and this was frankly a mockery.

There was a completely understandable reason for the youth to be upset, as there usually was, after all they had lost their place in the Mars Brightest contest that they had spent so very long trying to secure a place in. Not that it was a fair contest, as they had been paired to compete against Angela Carpenter, a popular child actor, model, and over all darling in society, which made her victory inevitable. No, it was not their loss that sent the vase hurtling through the air, leaving a mess of porcelain, water, and what had once been a lovely assortment of carnations and orchids on the carpet, the water quickly soaking the area.

What had left Cybelle in such a horrid, volatile mood was that they had been so unfairly rejected!

One hand found its home in the ever growing mess that was their short black hair, clawing and scratching in a frantic fervour, as if there was some part of them that thought that they might find an explanation for their unfair treatment if they simply dug hard enough. If they thought to look, they would find blood under their nails. The other hand was curling in and out of a shaky, unsteady fist, the joints in their fingers locking up uncomfortably as they did so.

How could Tuesday have done this to them? She belonged to them! Cybelle had even gone so far as to marking the other as their own, the metallic taste of the beads of blood drawn in the process still fresh in their mind. But even marked Tuesday dared betray them and trail after the keyboard player like some foolish lovesick puppy! Tuesday betrayed them, and g-d damn her for it! Damn her to the deepest pits of hell!

The breath that they took in was burning with a rage that raced their nerves like a wildfire, and left in the freezing chill of a sorrow that froze their heart and left the shards of it fragile yet sharp as a blade.

Tears, hot and unchecked budded up and streamed from the corners of their eyes. The eyes themselves had melted from a frightening fire to a teal pool of misery and self pity, as if all the sorrows in the world could be found swirling just beneath the surface. Even as they choked on a sob, they cared not to catch themself.

All need for a composure had been thrown to the wind at the very same moment Cybelle did not get what they wanted. What they wanted was Tuesday Simmons, the young lady that had not once left their mind since the day the video of the performance in the Mars Immigration Hall had made its way to their attention.

From where it sat, discarded and mostly forgotten, their phone lit up. It was merely a reminder of the time - of course it was, who would care enough to even think of messaging them, after all? They were, evidently, undeserving of even the faintest scrap of love - and this would have been all well and good had it not exposed a photograph of the very same young lady that had reduced them to such a wretched state. They had set both the lockscreen and homescreen of their phone as photographs they had taken off of the shared account that Carole and Tuesday had, and both were generally very lovely photographs. But the smile upon her upturned lips seemed to be more a sneer than something lovely, the laughter that shone in the blue of her eyes looking more like one of mockery than merriment. Yet even now she appeared a goddess, with her hair of spun gold and the constellations decorating her skin like the sky itself had deemed itself unworthy of such a sight and had blessed her in its stead.

The phone had already been cracked, but the sound it made as it smashed against the wall suggested it would be unsalvageable.

With their breath coming so fast it caught in their throat, sharp and fast and painful as their heart pounded in their ears like a war drum, they sunk to their knees, hands clasped over their ears with such a force that it ached. Their eyes wild, like those of a trapped animal but also of a proud beast meeting the business end of a riffle after a bloody rampage.

"You hurt me," Cybelle gasped, the words sounding mangled and choked, the words growing from a whisper to a scream that would leave the dead weeping in the grave, "You are mine, I marked you as mine, and you hurt me, Tues! It burns! You burnt me! You ripped my heart out although it beat only for you! What does that Carole have that I could not give you a thousand times over! I would have dedicated my life to you, would she do the same? My heart still beats, but you have killed me!"
Over and over their fists met the ground, thundering fury upon the world. The sound was muffled by the carpet, but the bruises that would stain their pale skin would speak of the strength of their emotion.

Wheezing from the sheer intensity of their howling, throat aflame to match their soul, they dug their nails in deep, not into their flesh but rather into the carpet. It was a weak attempt at grounding themself in whatever way they could. But they were waging a losing battle against their emotions, yet another wave of maddening grief washed over them, dragging them further down to the hell they had made for themself.

They gritted their teeth together hard, hard enough for their jaw to ache something fierce, the faintest hint of blood just making itself noticeable. This was in no way helpful to their situation, not that anything else they had done was particularly beneficial either, but this specifically had reminded them of the hopefulness that the last taste of blood, not their own, had brought to them only for it to have been shattered into more pieces than they could hope to repair again.

Tuesday had hurt Cybelle, left their very soul bleeding and broken. She did this to them, SHE brought about this ruin, this pain. It burnt like the fires of hell, stung like a swarm of angry wasps, and it ached like a torture long forgotten by mankind. Tuesday had done this to them, so why should they be the only one to suffer in this way?

Tuesday, on her part, was feeling exceptionally guilty about the whole ordeal. Perhaps if she had been strong enough to mention that she was uncomfortable right of the bat, things would not have gotten so crazy. She had not been aware that she had been playing with the corner of the patch on her neck, the bite wound beneath thankfully no longer aching from the antiseptic, but her hand was met with the darker hand of her girlfriend as she gently drew it away. The look of pure, genuine concern upon Carole's face spoke more than words ever could, and with a wobble of her bottom lip, Tuesday sought out a hug, and Carole was more than happy to oblige. The two were safe, and had found a home both with and in the other, and so as long as they were together they were able to get through anything life decided to throw at them.