advency.
they’d be lying to themself to say that none of it was true. that he doesn’t have a point, that he isn’t precise with every intonation &. wording. it’s hand goes to where it’s heart should be, pulse false, just like the rest of this earthly form. ❪ your tomb / your prison. ❫ ❛ you act like i just —— fall for it. do you think i’m that foolish? like i don’t know any better? ❜ it’s stupid of you to think i don’t let it happen, goes unsaid. it’s smarter than that. it’s smart enough to not trust anyone, knows to pledge allegiance to no one but themself —— &. maybe that’s selfish. maybe it’s an acclimation from prolonged life, a survival tactic. ❪ you’re an outsider here; an interruption in a natural order maintained by powers that wish you dead. ❫
&. maybe time softened them more than it has hardened. or maybe the circumstances have merely reduced them down to something pathetic. ❪ pain, blinding in its heat. repeated death, both physical &. emotional. the sibling that’s forsaken you. that has sent you over the edge, weakened your resolve, &. on worse days, make you want to give up completely. ❫ but they don’t have the heart to stop getting up / they want some insignificant death to be permanent. they’re too embered to inspire greater desolation / they’d give everything to burn this world down if it meant resolution. they’re tired. more importantly, they’re weak.
❛ you’re wasting your time telling me things i already know. are you done yet? ❜
the feigning of ignorance is enough to make his teeth grind; enough to have the live wire of rage snap against the skin of his spine and leave vanitas burning to the touch, desperate for something to spit this surge of venom at. defiled god stands before him and even this simple act is enough to enrage / enrage / how dare this walking corpse look him so boldly in the eye? the weaker half of a pathetic whole, the piece that was torn apart and thrown to the side and how fucking dare this abomination walk as if they were any better than vanitas? ( they were perfect images mirrored, vanitas and sol. two broken pieces originally forged into one greater whole, forced apart and forced against and of the original unions, vanitas and sol were the weaker sections. they were the part deemed unusable / the failures / the part that was better off abandoned — vanitas could see it. vanitas wonders if sol wants to kill their sibling the way vanitas wants to kill ventus. )
❛ you’re the definition of an idiot. you’ve been around for how long? and you think peaceful negotiations and favors are what will bring you closer to your goal? ❜ monstrosities like them had no use for friendship and bargains / had no reason to trust the words of strangers and their pathetic little posters. vanitas laughs in the face of such a mighty deity and his darkness dares to reach for the shadow that darkens within their feet ( you’re casting such a fearsome shadow, my god. has there always been such a stain of wickedness upon golden veins? has the loss of your better half casted you towards the path of damnation? ) even in their anguish, they were two perfect copies / even in their rage, they were two perfect copies. for the first time in lifetimes, vanitas has found a heart besides ventus’ that was truly worth devouring.
❛ i have one last question before i’m done with you. ❜ when he smiles, it’s nothing but blood and daggers. when he smiles, he prepares for his feast. ❛ have you considered that maybe she doesn’t want to return to you? i mean, considering how often she’s abandoned you.. your continuous attempts are becoming real pathetic. ❜ and when vanitas laughs, it’s the song of hysteria. ❛ are those posters working well? ❜













