Scotch

The Deathbringer.

My only chance of forgetting the past.

My only way of avoiding my present.

My only way of withdrawing my future.

Painkiller! Redeemer! Salvation!

While Clarice uses this demon to unleash the one that lives inside herself, I’m bound to it by a pact of blood. A pact that cannot be undone. A pact carved with scarlet letters on the most ancient of papers.

Curse! Ultimatum!

And it’s the only thing I’ll ever be married to.

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Posted on 30/07/2011, in Prose, Verse. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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