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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Other · #1261293
the second (and much more disturbing) of the seven
it seems like only moments ago she'd found him, tangled up in the sheets of their bed, her sister in his arms.
pain rocks through her, making her weak. she grasps the edge of the nightstand to steady herself; fighting down the bile rising in her throat.
she watches him sleep, her mind wandering back to that day - that agony, that ultimate betrayal.
how could he look so peaceful when he should be suffering nightmares?
she hates him - her teeth grinding against themselves, her jaw set in stone.
she wants him dead - narrows her eyes, clenches her fists - her nails digging moon shapes into her flesh.
but she is smart. so very cold and calculating. she knows there are fates worse than death.
her gaze roams downward, across his body, fixing her target.
she raises the knife she borrowed from the kitchen drawer -
aiming it at an area sharp implements should never be pointed toward.
she hates him - her teeth clenching, bracing herself with her anger.
she wants him dead - her hands tighten around the hilt - knuckles whitenening.
but, knowing there are fates worse than death, she slams the blade down - metal biting flesh.
with a smile lighting her face, she knows her vengeance is sinfully secure in his screams.
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