Prey and Mercy

I let the rock tumble from my fingers, all gaiety lost. It was already, had always been, set in stone. "Make my funeral a lavish one, will you? And dance with whomever you please."

Prey didn't falter for a second. His eyes glittered. "Then I will dance with you in death."

***

MERCY- She's not a killer. Power doesn't come easy in a world where everyone is blood hungry and adamant on rising above others. The truth is easy to hear: in order to ascend, to be normal, Prey must die...by her hands. Thinking it and feeling it are two different things. And being stuck with him isn't ideal in the slightest. When all he wants is his hands around her throat and her blood staining his skin it's hard to imagine living in a world where her life isn't on the line. Only deep down there's something a bit like trust between them. Some bitter, deformed version of trust that stops her from slitting his throat.

PREY- Mercy isn't beautiful. He's never thought of her in that way. She's merely a girl that rejected him when they were ten and now, in order to appease the gods, he must slay her. It seems like justice but it feels a little twisted...even for him. All he wants his power, the more the merrier. But somehow Mercy has a way of slipping from his grip, saying words that mess with his head. Yes, he trusts her more than he trusts himself but life demands death, specifically hers.