Double Standard: Mean what you say.


"Why are you so selfish?"

She spoke those words, and truly did I feel them sting.

Would that lift your spirits?
Would my death heal your wounds?

She stands before me, Knife in her clenched fist reflecting the dim lights of the flickering torches around us. Never has she been so beautiful, so radiant.

Would you spill my blood?
Would you spill our blood?

Her stare is fury and light; fire and brimstone.

And I contemplate it; my death. The wheel will stop at my death. The WORLD will end once my blood parches the lips of the dry castle grounds.

More than my death do I ponder my own greedy desires. Have I not corrupted the hands of The WORLD when I spun it in favor of my gambits? When I spin it to collect the souls of the very dead when such events do not look in my favor?

I am a reaper, am I not? A soul collector. A bone collector. Even to my sister, my beloved, who I once killed in another life. I still come to this event to collect her soul in my pocket.


I have came to this very moment to collect her very soul...


I exploit The WORLD.

I look away from her; I cannot bear to look at her.

You are right sister
I am selfish.

She is an Angel. I am nothing more than a child who cannot be redeemed.

Barring my neck to her, I ask once more:

Would you spill our blood?
Would my blood heal your wounds?

I look up from ground that thirsts for my blood and look into her eyes. She stands before me. Knife in her clenched fist reflecting the dim lights of the flickering torches around us. Never has she been so beautiful, so radiant.

Her stare is nothing but fury and light; fire and brimstone.


disclaimer
and
concrit greatly appreciated.