The Guild of the Forsaken

CHAPTER 37 - An Abundance of Knives

Thriller - Micheal Jackson

October 31st 2024

GOTHAM CITY

MARINETTE'S APARTMENT

It was not the first time Marinette had forgotten.

Memories steadily ran from the woman who drank them away, left them to drown in her misplaced sorrow.

Stirring in the warm sheets that cocoon her frigid body Marinette steadily gathers the strength to stumble out of sleeps warm embrace. Something nags in the back of her mind, something about the importance of today, but her brain refuses to pick up on the warning.

And now, rather unsurprisingly the first sight to grace her bloodshot eyes are the empty bottles of scotch littered carelessly on her bedside table.

The unassuming glass reflects her own pale face back at her, recoiling in disgust or perhaps something else Marinette frowns and turns away from the ghastly sight.

Had she truly been that drunk, briefly she wondered what horrific memory must have resurfaced to send her running into darknesses manicured hands. Afterall she had been doing well recently, with Damian back in her life – albeit at arms length – the urge to drown herself in alcohol had lessened.

Standing in the path of a cool breeze Marinette's memories return in flashes and fragmented sections, they came seeking refuge in her pounding head, but if she concentrated on them hard enough they found a way to escape almost as fast as they came.

Feeling the telltale signs of a migraine Marinette makes the wise choice to focus on what memories she managed to recover rather than fishing for more.

A bar, or many actually.

There is also an abundance of knives in her vision along with many empty bottles.

And blood, a lot of blood.

Snorting despite the festering guilt Marinette can't help but compare this to the dozen other identical situations she has found herself in before.

Misery loves company and it seems like blood is also a big admirer of Marinette's.

She assumes that it must be someone else's, while bashfully looking down at her blood-soaked dress and the dark splotches encrusted on her skin.

'It's a shame,' she briefly muses for she had just purchased the dress and not for cheap either.

But when Marinette drinks to this extreme, she drinks to forget, consequences be damned.

Mindlessly chasing a momentary lapse of silence amongst the raging storm that is her mind.

For she is never alone up there, no longer the only inhabitant of her consciousness. If she was being truthful she doubts there ever was a moment of isolation. No fleeting second of white noise or even eerie silence.

Someone is always talking, screaming at her more accurately.

Drink had become her only way to escape the horrifying reality that is her life.

But she can't blame anyone else for that really, not now.

Well none except the Gods locked amongst her soul, even then the blame is cruelty misplaced.

For they themselves are bound for eternity.

Dutiful servants fulfilling every act that was forbidden, that went against the natural order.

With a well timed snort she muses how the apple certainly didn't fall far from the tree despite her best efforts to have the whole thing torn down.