Death can easily be administered to anyone regardless of how successful they were in life.
A god agrees with the nihilist in this story.
There are many tragedies in this story. Many fortunes arising, too.
But the god and the antichrist don't car...
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Angel of Debauchery & Small Death
Varbridge Palace, Ember's Rock, Saprea
Debauchery was banned while the High Queen ruled, but that was the silliest proclamation ever made, for even the King scoffed in the face of his wife over such high standards for piety. But still, Sandro managed to singlehandedly set the benchmark for social intercourse with such aplomb. Again.
A whiff of powders was all that he needed to let it all go. The repetitive thoughts of Loran, the pain, the mistreatment. It all hit him like a wild horse. He just wanted to feel nothing now. Should he die here, now was an appropriate time, before people assessed him with judgmental eyes and made him miserable, he would've been happy.
Grabbing a flute of champagne off a passing footman's plate, he leaned against a pillar in the corner of the room, closing his eyes and letting the lilting music of one, two, and three wash over him.
Then he was on top of the table kissing another man. It was such a lively night. It glowed a variety of different colors and kissed the delicate bodies that moved around the floor. This was the night, the night they all knew was coming. And with little preparation, none of them were afraid. He, however, was a little afraid. But the beautiful singing voices soothed him as he switched from partner to partner, each of them giving him their names with a marvelous smile.
It wasn't enough for him. He anticipated the night to bring him joy but all he felt was dread. He jumped off the table and walked over to a table with various champagnes and wines. He downed two glasses of wine.
He capered about to the next room, ignoring the lovers performing lecherous acts on the walls and the sexual roughhousing on the floor. He made his way through the dark smoky rooms and looked for someone, any person who he truly considered a friend, to amuse him. Dozens of women lie around dazed, akin to a great work of art, if not for the soulless look in their eyes. The echoes of ominous music unsettled him a bit. He wished for a happier tune.
"My, my, aren't you horny rabbits? Ah, to be young and in love."
"Cousin, you seem in a very good mood," Achilles said, taking a sip from his wine as Cerise dangled from his lap in a torpor. She was unbothered that her skirt had ridden up. Achilles's shirt was unbuttoned and a sliver of his pronounced collarbone showed. Sandro smirked, knowing how far they were about to go.
"How can I not be joyful with such gifts around me?" Sandro said haughtily, and then set eyes upon Cerise. "And beauty." He brought her knuckles to his lips, kissing them quickly before speaking again because all he ever liked to do was talk. "Talking of which, I'd like to have a dance with your darling girl."
"With Cerise?" Achilles asked, incredulous.
Sandro said in a deadpan manner, "I do not care for your tone."
