bigdoamoire
𝙄𝙉𝙁𝘼𝙈𝙔 - 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘤𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯.
They said infamy is earned.
Not inherited.
Not stolen.
Not branded into you by a name you never chose.
He learned early that blood remembers even when the mind refuses.
It remembers betrayal, survival, rules you never agreed to, debts you cannot repay.
Red was never just a color.
It was a warning.
- " Cinque. Quindici, Cinquanta. Sempre gli stessi numeri."
( 5, 15, 50. Always the same fucking numbers. )
Violence was language.
Control was safety.
Weakness was deadly.
She learned the same truth in her own way.
Her world was narrower, colder, sharper than any playground. Instead of drawing lines on skin, she was etching jagged paths across flesh with the katana's blade.
Every movement calculated. Every glance scanned for threats.
Every step was measured against a ledger no one else could read.
Mistakes were never forgiven.
Mercy was a weakness.
Both trained to survive.
Trained to dominate.
Trained to be remembered - or feared - even if no one could say their names aloud.
And yet, even in parallel, they existed as
strangers.
Two legacies carving paths through the same world, unaware, unyielding.
Every choice they made built walls. Every word they spared sharpened blades in the dark.
Ils se sont déjà haïs.
( They already hated eachother. )
And forgetting, when it came, was not relief.
It was subtraction.
What remained did not sleep.
It watched.
It counted.
It learned the shape of fear before it arrived.
Distance collapsed like walls on brittle bones.
Breath seized.
Time cracked.
There was no warning.
No pause.
No mercy.
When it broke, it tore through everything-
blood, bone, silence.
The world itself flinched.
Nothing surviv