There was me and there was my sister. Well I was not her sister. But I should have been. There was the spark scroll of her life. There was me up late at night reading. There was me and there was my sister. Well I was not her sister. But I should've been. There was the Motherland that connected us. There was the common race, the common language, the common God. But more than that, farther-reaching than that, there was common humanity. Common childhood. We shared the same space. But we did not weep the same tears.
There was me and there was my sister. Well we were not sisters. I did not earn the honour of calling her my sister and I doubt I ever will.
But there were the Kings and Queens, proud and disdainful and belligerent. And there I was, a coward. My cowardice and my sinfulness combined with their hatred and their pride shaped me into a snarling, haughty beast. I had long sharp fangs and a mouth that spewed forth venom. And claws that tore asunder. And I walked up to my sister, to the young, sad-eyed, doe-eyed, wise-eyed, strange-eyed, dark-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights girl and with thunderous booming storm I wrested her from this world. I devoured her with malice and with haughtiness and with cowardice, savouring the taste, licking my lips. And then when it was over I walked away into the comfort that comes with being a princess who lives centuries before the guillotines were invented.
There was me and there was the angel I betrayed. As she sank and she sank down into my gut, the corrosive acid clawing at her eyes and throat, she found her own claws and fangs. There was me and there was my sister. I mean, the girl who was far far too good for me to call sister.
And she sank her teeth into my guts, into my intestines, into my kidneys, into my womb. And she tore them asunder from the inside out. Praise.
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