God,how I love this woman.
This murder-obsessed walking death sentence.
I admire every meticulous cut she applies, every open wound she manages to slice deeper, and I have never, ever felt more alive than when I am watching her kill.
She’s brought me back from the brink of death, and I linger there, ever so in love.
Not just with the idea of her, but with life itself.
Because what is the point in living if I cannot adore every single second I get to spend with her?
Xavier
I watchin awe as she slices him to pieces with the belt alone, then casts it aside, breathing ragged breaths while covered in his blood.
Samuel hangs on by a thread, and she grips his slumped face by the cheeks—or whatever is left of it—then grits, “Now you know my fucking wrath.”
She shoves him back into the tree and steps back to admire her work.
“What now?” Atreus asks, standing in the middle of the grassy area and staring at the body.
She glances back at him, pausing, as if she’s wondering whether he’ll intervene.
“Is it done?” he adds.
“Xavier. Pin his arms up,” she says, still looking at Atreus.
I nod and immediately grab his arms to drag them up the tree sideways, then wrap the rope around them to secure them. His blood stains my shirt and skin, but it’s a small price to pay to witness her murders.
She pulls her favorite butcher’s knife from her bag and stabs Samuel repeatedly, cutting into his chest under Atreus’ watchful gaze. She’s given him a front row seat to the show, as if she wants him to bear witness.
Roaring out loud, she pulls Samuel’s rib cage out of his chest, bone by bone, and tears them to the side. The lungs are ripped through a hole in his back, splayed on each side of his ribs like a bird’s wings.
Atreus’ knees slowly cave in on him. “Blood eagle.”
The macabre display of violence has even me feeling queasy, but Atreus does nothing but stare at the onslaught, confused, dazed, numbed, or turned on, I don’t know.
But I am all of those, and more.
She manages to turn any man into a faithful worshipper.
A terrible, terrible power to hold … to keep.
Men don’t like to be owned.
They aren’t easy to tame.
But she … she’s worth it.
And she’s gotten all of us on our knees.
Every hampered breath when she chokes me with those manicured nails.
Every fucking heel she puts on my chest, I adore.
To be smothered by her depraved needs is the greatest honor.
When she’s done, Samuel is splayed out against the tree like a plucked bird, and Sunny is doused in his blood. She runs her fingers down her face and throws me a look so devilish I flinch.
