𝗣𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝘅 𝗚𝗡! 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥
━━━ your end will become my eternal damnation.
( tokimihyachi / 07.14.22 )
━━━ 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: this book contains mature content in various forms. reader discretion is advised.
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CHAPTER FOUR . PORCELAIN DOLLS
content warning: sexual themes, alcoholic beverages, and prostitution.
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⸻ THE TSARITSA GAVE HER HARBINGERS PARTIAL CARTE BLANCHE.
Freedom was a foreign word to the Eleven trump cards of the Cryo Archon. They gambled their latitude and all they once owned to attain the promised neverland— a world where Celestia could not tamper and regulate the laws of the world; who it is that should and should not be worthy of the divine's providence.
The Harbingers had a similar, if not the same view, so they struck a deal with the loveless Archon at the expense of their liberty. A small price to pay.
Though they knew their place as mere pawns in the vile game of chess against Celestia, the Harbingers still held their own dominion in the mortal realm.
The only fetters that held them back from fully expediting their mundane sentiments were the orders from Her Majesty herself— her one simple rule, cold as metal in a frosted winter palace, yet searing in flame when cast upon them:
'I shall give you all that you need, provided that you cast aside all it is you have upon my command.'
Dottore had his academic pursuits, Tartaglia had his family while Pantalone? All he ever wanted was control—that which now he did.
Influence. Power. Money. How many men lustful of these worldly desires have lost sight of what is most important in life? Pantalone did not know, nor did he care. He had long forgotten the true purpose of humanity in this god-forsaken place people call their salvation.
"My Lord, which shall it be today?" asked a servant, the timbre of his voice polite, yet it faltered in his presence. "We have selected the top of the brass for you, Sir, as requested."
His eyes hovered over their figures in tedium, the rims of his glasses almost perfectly encapsulating the faintest indication of interest he had for today's affairs. The ice in his cabernet of tequila melts, its rippled effect on the beverage serving as the only sound of the opulent yet bleak room reserved for his use.
Flesh upon flesh revealed through the low cut bodice of their décolletage, puckered lips tainted in crimson red, and necks scented of third-rate perfumes. What petty-looking dolls encased in a box of glass.
He had a penchant for collecting. Whether it was money, jewelry, or archaic objects—anything that his distinguished eye deemed worth of anything is his. Among his collection, he favored people. They were expendable, yet useable if taught right.
