a history of violence
#9
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THE THINGS THAT I'VE LOVED
______THE THINGS THAT I'VE LOST

I think we're done.



THE THINGS I'VE HELD SACRED
______________THAT I'VE DROPPED


_____ Morality kept people like this believing they were right. Ahren knew that because he could fucking smell it. It smelled like flowers over rotting flesh, the sickly-sweet smell of death and shit and lilacs. They felt different too—like a body stuffed with dead rats, operating because those little beasts were trying to claw their way out. He sensed all of these things from Lucifer because he knew that there was no path to redemption. In the end they were all monsters, especially those rapists and murderers who hid behind their titles. Ahren knew. Ahren had been there before.
_____ He kept smiling, holding the fury rising in his blood, forcing his tone to remain even as his eyes burned. “Do you think I’m afraid of your little pack? Of you?” He let a low, mad-cackle escape his chest, and he moved the bow just slightly. “You both brought this on yourselves,” he reminded, and then pulled the trigger. The arrow flew through the air, aimed high—it brushed directly past the black male’s skull, and landed squarely in the trunk of a tree. Even before the arrow stuck, Ahren was gone. He had what he needed.





I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need to forget




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