There’s blood on my hands, fire pulsating through my heart, and poison on my lips. At night, when the sun is laid to rest and the beauty of the moon absorbs control, I dream of the end of an era, the death of an immortal, and possessing more power than the ichor bursting through their veins. I storm the streets, enveloped in a dress that flows like an arrow through the vast nothingness. I have glass for fingers and I destroy, conquer, vanquish all the boys who shout, taunt, and ruin beauties of our world. This one if for all the girls out there; the gentle, porcelains, and the ones who run with wolves. This is for any of you who have been mistreated at the hands of a god’s incessant vanity. Tonight, I avenge all the girls the gods wronged. Apollo, my dear, your gift was not a curse; it did not run through me like cyanide, but of strength and insufferable rage. Apollo, my dear, I’m starting with you. Don’t try to run. Thanks to you, I’ve already seen it happen. I’ve seen the blood stain my hands and your final breath brush your lips. All that’s left is for me to practise my swing of the blade. I’m ticking the gods off my list. One by one— they’ll be at my mercy.a
cassandra’s revenge - p.j (via johnocallaghn)
