between the shadows and the soul - weed

[weed]

she is the lamb; he is the slaughter

Weed does not forget annoyances. It is a running list in his head of those who have ever crossed him, and it does not get shorter with time—it just expands. So he remembers his last visit to the Gates as easily as if it happened yesterday; he remembers the interaction as clear as day and it makes his skin crawl with anger. That damn tree had ruined all of his fun, and he wouldn’t forget that quickly. If he had his choice, he would gladly burn it to the ground just to soothe his own personal sense of justice.

So he laughs when she answers, and the sound is genuine. “They have never been bright,” he says scornfully, although his ears perk at the mention of the broken girl. He, much like Gryffen, enjoyed being around broken souls, although his method was quite different. He enjoyed the art of deception, enjoyed the art of earning their trust with syrupy words and soft touches only to yank the rug out from under them. It was a special kind of enjoyment to break their hearts after they though you deserved it.

Perhaps everyone could get what they wanted after all.

Smiling to himself in anticipation, and thrilled with the ideas coursing through him, he nipped at her in excitement—part in enjoyment of her presence and part in sheer pleasure of the moment. He could practically smell the bloodshed on the horizon, as if it was the moment of knife pressing against flesh, just waiting for it to rip. “It will do,” he says as he takes in the foggy kingdom. Not because he does not enjoy it, but because he was not like others that gave themselves so willingly to their kingdom. To him, it was nothing but backdrop. Although he could not say the Valley did not hold some allure to him.

“Do you want to know what I really think though?”
He grins for a moment, teeth flashing.
“I think I’m sick of everyone getting along.”

WEED

© oscar keys