Page 93 of Buried in Blood
I flick ash into the corner, watching it settle like snow. Then I keep moving.
I check the supply room. The branding tools. The sedation fridge. The storage unit for auction boxes. Every lid is sealed. Every strap in place. Every lock is tight.
I check the medical records, the behavioral charts, and the shower rotation. I read Harmony’s latest interview:
-Silent.
-Still.
-Distant.
-Present.
Good girl.
I check the closet where I keep the spare cloaks.
The black ones are for the ceremony.
The red one is for punishment.
It’s still there.
Waiting.
By the time I circle back to the control room, the lights have dimmed on their own. Night mode.
It softens the walls, but doesn’t make them kind. Nothing here is kind. That’s the point.
I sit down in the leather chair and lean back, hands behind my head. And Ilisten. Not for footsteps. Not for speech. For stillness.
The stillness that only comes when obedience has replaced hope.
And in that quiet?
I smile.
Because it’s almost time.
And everything isexactlywhere it needs to be. Then I remember a big event coming up.
Lucien’s wedding. I walk to my office to think about it. I need to do something special for my little brother on his big day.
* * *
The very phrase tastes like blood in my mouth.
A wedding.
I stare at the plan of his wedding again. It’s spread across the table like an autopsy—cold, clinical, precise.
White roses. Two hundred guests. A manor estate with glass walls and a wine cellar.
How poetic.
A celebration of loyalty… built on betrayal.
I drag the knife slowly down the page, slicing through the section labeledVows. Red ink bleeds around the edge. I like the symbolism.
