a death in the family

[Arkham Lykoi]

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sharksHe deserved it, Arkham said coldly and perhaps more harshly than he would have wanted. But it was true; it had always been true. Even when he was young, he could see his brother's death sentence float over his head like a decrepit halo. One day, he would do something unforgivable and he would pay for it with his life. He would be torn apart by those he was supposed to love and those who were supposed to love him, but there would be nothing but disgust and hatred in their veins -- the same disgust and hatred that they all shared. The same vengeance, the same madness. The same goddamn madness. The coyote let his sister change the subject. He didn't want to think or talk about it either (he didn't want to tell her that he thought they would all end up the same one day, unwanted skeletons in the sand, left to erode alone).




sharksNo, he said of their father. I found the cottage he'd been staying at at one point, but I didn't see him. Changed? He didn't know what she meant by that. Good change? Bad change? Sideways change that wasn't really positive or negative? Their father had always been a sick man -- was whatever he had now of a more traditional disease? Of the body rather than the mind? Arkham had never really known his father but for that one chance meeting and all the conversations he'd had with his caretakers. Did that really count as knowing someone? He didn't think so. How is he? Pause. How are you? It was then he noticed that she didn't smell like Inferni.

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