Chalice of Revenge (Ghost X Ruby Laswell)

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I hated how I enjoyed her presence.

How I envied her appearance.

How I favored her personality.

I hated myself for remotely even taking interest in someone who I should have no interest in.

I hated myself for feeling as though I serve a duty to protect. How I found every excuse to talk to her, how when my touch slightly brushed up against her my body forgot how to retract.

I hated myself for allowing my demeanor to become soft instead of calloused. I usually let people die that I don't know well- but I couldn't. And I don't understand why.

The way that fear lit up in her eyes when Graves was forcing himself reminded me too much of my own demons.

The screams,

The torture,

The laughing,

The death.

All of it reminded me of her, but she was what made that pain feel.. less painful. And I hated it. I hated how mysterious she was, how I wanted to dissect why she thinks what she thinks.

Why I cared to bandaged her,

Why I care enough to let her lay her head on my shoulder.

I hated physical touch, I do hate it. But I couldn't move- my body was fighting a war it never truly was fighting, and I don't understand why it was different now.

Seeing the red, the death, the crying.

Feeling the fear and shock once I heard knife enter her flesh. The anger I felt, the red I saw when I saw the smug look on his face.

I was a crow who fed off of the dead while she was an eagle with its own nest.

I'm not intrigued, or so I thought. I refuse to be intrigued. I deserve to marinate in my own silence.