'ᴡᴇ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴇɴᴛɪᴍᴇɴᴛ. ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ʙᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴠᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ.'
Only one month has passed in Daliah Viper's life trying to reintegrate at court and follow the uneasy trails her eyes have caught.
One month filled with blood, tribulations, and l...
-a state of commotion, excitement, or violent disturbance
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Quick and swift is how coups are carried out.
Quick and swift is how you break an arm.
It is how you cut out an eye or a tongue or how you punish someone that has been pestering your world with the insistence of an annoying justice.
Quick and swift , the last weeks have passed. Frustrating and slow for me, forced to hold my feet still.
Commanded by a boy, shoved by noble advisors and financiers that think they stand above being removed.
They hold their hands over their children and that is just as frustrating as my wife being a frigid, doomed creature denying me.
Quick and swift, now that is a nice sentiment when you can't draw a spectacle out. Languid suffering is not to be underwritten in joy.
At least the promises still stand. Right now I may be watching in some distance. But imagine the victory that reconditioning the rats my wife and the others catch and bring to Corros will yield.
Reconditioning needs apt people to execute. If there's one thing I am good at, it is pure control. I should be there right now, even if the capital is as cozy as ever.
That's the horror of my days. I am out of patience.
Elara knows that. She reinforces any promises that she makes as she takes turns in Corros and behind the throne.
"The next turn is ours," she promises me. "I'll be forever grateful for your sharp eye and your hands."
I am not prone to flattery. But the exchanges go smooth and I want to believe that. I need to.
Violence is power. Force is power. Aren't we good at it? We are surperior. Of course we win.
While I sit on dry land, my wife walks and travels, and her family follows her. They scurry away like the bugs they are whenever she backs off with her guards.
She takes the idiot and the lunatic with her too. They're a unit of black with dogs in harnesses and rifles on their side. The little bug widow herself proceeds to sneer at me while I watch them pack off, but she can't stop herself from showing off her latest gift in some weak threat.
The metal stick is as long as her arm up to her elbow.
"I was told I shouldn't always expect to hit with a knife."
"Did you ever hit anything?"
With a shake of her hand, the Baton unfolds , a stick as long as a sword, a strong bit of lead , iron, rubber. Her fingers swirl the baton around.
One button push and it retracts.
"I wonder if it hurts more than being cut." Her eyes try to look hostile.
