Page 9 of Architecti
I have never felt more alone.More disconnected.He’s been there my entire life, and yet,not.
He’s a façade.
A mask of a parent.
When it pleases him, he’ll show others how good he is as a father.But there’s more to parenting than ensuring I’m fed, watered, and educated.I hate that I want his love.I hate that I crave being told I’ve done well or made him proud.I want to gouge this yearning need for validation from my ribs because all the while I need it, I am not free.
I will never be free.
I know this, and yet I can’t break away.It’s a strange thing to love a parent who behaves like they hate you.There’s a part of him—deep down—that loves me.Or at least a part of him thinks he does.But he can’t see past his own selfish needs.
It’s fucked up.But what else can I do?I have no other parent, no other family.
My chin aches from the press of his fingers.I rub my jaw and pick up the fallen frame.
My fingers skim over the words; it’s signed by Professor Dregan.I wonder if his wife is okay.I can’t imagine having spent aeons with the same person only to have them die.
Omnia mors aequat, death renders all equal.
Death is an oddity.We’re here studying every facet of it, a few are even able to control some elements of it, and still, there comes a point where none of us can avoid it, not even the archdevil himself.Not forever.And yet, if we are all honest, that is exactly what we are here to do.
Avoid it.
Control it.
Tame it.
Make it our own.
Irrespective of whether you’re mortal, demonic or somewhere in between, we all obsess over death here.
It makes me wonder whether it’s really the mortals or us demons who are most afraid of death.We evade it for so long, live these luxuriously long lives that no one can take away, and yet, like every mortal I’ve encountered, it’s never enough.
We crave more.
I make a mental note to seek out the professor when he’s back from his trip and hope that I get a chance to say goodbye to Mrs Dregan.She was a real sweetie.She always interrupted his classes to bring him sandwiches and cookies from home.It was adorable.
I pop the frame back on the wall and make my way out of the tower.I need that wine and dance, and rumour has it there’s a pop-up rave in an old graveyard in the city.
I rush across the campus, its grey, gloomy mist lingering around every corner.Even at the height of midday, fog often crawls along the campus’s cobbled streets and clings to the buildings like a cloak.But tonight, it’s a pale, globulous shroud.Even the ivy seems to tremble at what lurks in the dingy white cloud.
I find a carriage at the campus entrance.“Take me to Lendon’s Cemetery across town,” I say and lean against the seat, grateful that despite this afternoon’s horrendous events, the night is not lost.I intend to drink myself into oblivion, and if I’m lucky, perhaps I’ll find a woman, or better yet, a masc dom who wants to play.
4
Midnight
Imake my way through the building and enter the graveyard.It’s brighter than I expected.Enormous flood lights showering the cemetery with strobing colours and patterns.
The DJ booth is at one end with a bar to the left.I head there, grab a drink and scan the dance area, looking for anyone I recognise.My drink is bitter and cool, the ice clinking against the glass.
I spot Darwin, another reaper I hang out with, and make my way over to him.
He raises his beer to me.“Cheers, birthday girl.”
“Thanks, Darwin,” I say, tipping my glass at him and taking another sip.He has a hideous cut on his cheekbone.I wonder how he got it.
Unlike me, he has two years left.Which means he stands straighter and surer than me.The weight ofhis endisn’t as heavy as mine.We all carry it, though.Wear the reality of our ticking clock like a cloak.Strange that most mortals are able to live in blissful ignorance despite the inevitability of their impending end.
