The matriculatious shape of his brow, his sloping eyes; the curve of his nose and the shape of his lips. All working together to form him.

Him.

Thomas.

His auburn hair, curling this way, and that. Framing his freckled, sharp face. The gods adored him.

Spoiled him with gifts of perfection.

His smile that showed perfect teeth, sharp features transformed to soft lines.

A paint smeared, wrinkled shirt. Forever in contradiction with a perfect face.

The slope of his back as he bent over a sketchbook. The curve of nimble fingers as they worked, the tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

He was perfect. Everyone loved him. I loved him.

Yet…

The dark, twisted urge to take and destroy was greater. The double bladed sword.

To care or destroy.

To protect or harm

I loved him like no one else. He was mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

I suppose you may think I am crazy, but I am not. A crazy person has no thoughts but for themselves. I cared for Thomas. It was for him.

He did not deserve to be here with those unworthy of him.

He belonged to the gods. Just for them.

So, I helped them. I lured him to my room for ‘studying’. I took out and and started

cutting.

I dragged him kicking and screaming to the gods. He did not understand in the moment, but he would soon.

And maybe, just because I was selfish, I followed after him. I deserved it. Did not bring him to the gods as they wanted?