The Story of Blood and Roses

Lesson Three: Pull the trigger to be sure; plunge the knife to see them die.

Lesson Four: Kill them before they get the chance to kill you.

Lesson Five: Act like a flower, but be the serpent under it.

Lesson Six: When in doubt, create havoc.

.

Beauty.

Balance.

["It's Scott's life for yours. You know how we work. Everything has a balance. We are vengeful beings, so we take the same things that the others take from you."]

Healer.

Protector.

["Nothing will happen to us," he had promised. His voice was coated in honey, the deadly kind that would get you stung by a thousand bees because you put your hand inside the beehive you extract it.

"Nothing will happen to you," I corrected and he raised a brow at me. I could see his brain working as he realized what I meant. His eyes flashed as he stared at me for a moment.

"I'd shoot any and all of those fuckers down if it came to it. No one will touch you."

"Because I'll kill them myself." He smirked.

"We'll kill them together, my kitten."]

Mystical Knowledge.

["That's what you do when you are with me," he told me in a speculative tone. "You build this little space where you can only imagine the two of us there... it's a fantasy of yours, isn't it? A microcosm. A world within a world." My head snapped around and I stared at him. He stared right back at me. He tried to lure me with one of those challenging looks of his. I might have glared, but I couldn't help but fascinate over the fact that he could quote Donne without having to think much about it.]

Emperor.

["Us—the bad guys, we've seen the worst of everything. You don't think I know what nightmares are? I used to get those when I was younger. I am where I am because of them. They made me stay awake, focus and build my empire from scratch."]

Glory.

Image after image after image went by. Like a slideshow after a slaughter, I stared at the scene as I saw my mother, read the various files. The records were minutely detailed; the transcripts of conversations sounded like things my mother would say. Little hints of Cain Vincent's betrayal were evident in the information. Pictures of crime scenes and successful missions flew by.

"I dream of you every night. You're slipping away. I wish I were the Messiah. I wish you were Lazarus. I want to resuscitate you. The roses will die, too. Be kind to my soul, dear Mia. Be gentle."

'No. Stop thinking about it,' I urged my fevered brain.

["Give me one good reason why I should believe you."

"You're the only one who can touch my lucky gun." He smiled conspiratorially.

Everyone tells me that you killed my mother.

"The first day you came in? I knew that I had found my match."

I vowed to kill you.

"That moment I heard the shots from the ceiling? I thought I had lost you."

I suspect that you know who I am.

"I can't stand the thought of losing you."]

No.

It can't be.

"Marie?" I heard the shuffling of feet. "What are you doing?" Daisy screamed. I turned towards her slowly, making sure that my mind was not playing tricks with me. "What is this?" I wondered why she was so scared... No.

She looked terrified.

Her eyes were fixed on the screen. She didn't even dare to look at me.

"Did you know?" Like a child speaking her first words, the words slurred and faded into the silence. Her head snapped towards me.

She realized that I was ready to speak.

"Did you know?" I repeated. I felt stronger. I felt a surge of hatred overcome me.

"Yes."

Anthony was Jasper.

.

The cold water felt like sharp needles stabbing the surface of my skin. I clung on to my knees as I let the droplets scar my face. I kept my eyes open and gave myself over to hatred. My body revolted against the darkness, but I clung on, savoring the bitter taste of it at the back of my tongue.

A laugh escaped my lips and I choked on a rush of water that went down my windpipe. I laughed despite of it.

Euphoria seeped in as pain and bitterness turned into pleasure and the deranged jumble of words in my head seemed to coordinate and form some mystical Gregorian chant. I sang along, letting the pleas of Caedmon Sybil wash over me and color me a rebel. I sang to betrayal and to the power to foresee. I sang as I had escaped the inescapable clutches of Death. I sang because I knew that like Charon, I would ferry the dead to the underworld. They would never drink from the Lethe. They would never forget the vice of death.

Wake.

Live.

Destroy.

Repeat.

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