“Nah. Killing people like him is never fucking fun. People like him don’t run or fight back, they just beg and cry and it’s fucking depressing.” Ysaac bit his wrist. Slurped down the blood. Groaned. “I won’t cry for him either. I’ll feel nothing when he dies in my hand or when I dump his body in whatever tip I choose.
“Indifference. That’s why my papa calls it. Complete indifference.” Blood dribbled down his chin. “Why? Are we supposed to feel for each kill?”
Corinthia nearly retched.
She had to look away when he bit into his own veins, it was almost as bad as dead blood. Never had she felt a stronger urge to fix the mess that Antenor had created, and for the first time, she didn’t know if ‘fix’ meant something other than to kill him. To make him stop, she might even put him to rights.
“You could drink his blood, Ysaac. You don’t have to feel when you kill anyone, just as long as you don’t think of those you kill as infinite. One can’t kill and kill and kill without consequence. But if you’re feeding, it has purpose. If you’re not going to enjoy, at least use it.”
