𝕳𝖊'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕬 𝕳𝖞𝖆𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖍

{ Matthew 5:4 }

Chapter 32's song: Dark Ivy by Robert Gromotka

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{ "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." }
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The dark substance of temptation is settled down on a walnut-colored table while the emptied reassembles to its original form is accompanied on the same surface. Fingers wrap around the depleted item, as soon as the delicate hand touches it. It briskly releases the glass harshly, jerking it into the fiery light.

A raucous noise ricochets within the object's abrupt arrival. The thing containing the liquids burst into a variety of unique shapes. The pieces cascade downwards into the vehemence of the multi-warm hues below it as if welcoming it into its intense embrace. Some of the liquid inside tangles within its severity causing it to uproar on a larger scale nearly caressing the bricks above it.

Another sound emits from an additional source, a lower pitch with a longer duration than the other. The person's face appears to be slightly wet on either side of their cheek, eyes are irritated and a tad puffy. The transparent fluid trickles down out of her eyes to her chin, noticing drops descend downwards onto their exposed collarbone. Their hair once neatly tamed is wildly exploring away from its restraints. Each strand follows its own destiny to make a mark.

The white nightgown's neckline is gradually slanted to the right shoulder, revealing their precious skin to the open. "Why aren't you cooperating?" Once more, a loud sound is perceived in the warm flames, the cause of the white noise to her is her comforting substance of sweet adult "nectar".

The glass is consumed by the hellfire. The second wave of aggression immediately alerts the people within her proximity. The soft scurrying of footsteps approaches the moment of the clamorous shatter commencing all over again. Following along a bellowing agony to embrace the destruction inside of the room.

The person— protagonist's eyes are beaming into the soothing light emitting within the small bricked pocket in the room. The people finally arrive at the crime scene. The woman is in the center of an imperfect white circle, and some decorative cards are below the white line. Each card represents a particular situation in this predicament. A dilemma she, so desperately yearns to alternate the outcome.

"Lady Y/n, is everything alright?" A servant inquires. The overwhelming emotions abruptly defer, and the void begins to permeate her body as she tugs at the corner of her lips. Still contemplating the dancing fire, her right eyebrow tilts upwards. "Yes...yes, everything's perfect," Y/n confesses. Her head slightly rotates around to where the entrance is, her eyes still have a red tint to her sclera, the veins prominent inside as her eyelashes are covered in a clear substance.

The liquid persists to flow downwards caressing every inch of her puffy cheeks to the shape of her flexing jawline. "Would you be a doll and fetch me another bottle?" The elocution in her is more softer and impressively pleasant compared to her pernicious request. She's voluntarily being taken over by the pure desire to consume the very tempting nature to dive deeper into her dark abyss.

However, the commands to the servant simply don't seem to sit well on her morality. Christianity to the ladies begins to play a role in the protagonist's wrongdoings. "Lady Y/n, this will be your thi—" Instantly the older woman is harshly interrupted by the authoritative tone of the other one.

"Are you questioning me, right now?" Her voice lace in the sour venom of wrath. It pervades through her fragile body, her eyes providing no hints of kindness she usually shows. Simply, the broken emotions overpower her sense of self and the negativity ravages her pure soul.

"Lady Y/n, at this rate you will drink yourself to your grave." The maid reminds the teenager of the demise that soon will be approaching if she's not careful enough. Her cautious footsteps move leisurely closer to the center of the room, making ascertain she doesn't alarm the young lioness with her abrupt arrival to face her. "That's the intention to drink until I feel paralyzed." She admits. The half-full bottle is settling inside the soft grips of the young girl.