(she/her - 24) I am the Head Loremaker here (and everywhere) and the only one posting since [REDACTED] left. I've been writing since I was twelve and have since escalated from grotesquely cringe emo band fics to a five part fantasy novel series inspired by the ghouls (you can read it when its published, if you're good) and several other critically unacclaimed books. But tumblr is just for the Ghost stuff. Previously Judith/Kat. Always CultLeaderFiction.
Fun facts: All of the Es in my writing are copy-pasted from one original E (all hail Original E). I hate Copia. I collect teeth and concussions, donations for both are always welcome. I'm slowly giving myself ARFID. I am afraid of the dark. I worship no God but will accept Him as a muse. If you use AI for art I think you should be put down like a lame horse. I have the most insanely sexy vampire bedroom.
(they/them - ?) (previously Nyx) Not participating in the blog anymore outside of whispering in my ear like an evil advisor with advice on posts, and- URGENT UPDATE: [REDACTED] has also been reading my posts as I post them, which was unknown to me until I asked them to provide these fun facts:
Fun facts: only has nightmares, definitely never been in witness protection, can name five birds (at least), probably couldn't eat a shower curtain alone, prone to organ removal
We encourage people to share their most depraved and sinful thoughts in the confessional, including but not limited to hc requests, sentence starters, general ghost related ideas, and personal anecdotes.
Rules:
- As all of the Papas know, the greatest confessions have a certain flair to them. Be dramatic, be passionate, be gory, be funny, be nasty, but do not be boring.
- This is a PROSHIP blog. Everything will be tagged accordingly but this is your warning. Here is the post on that.
- if you yell at me about not posting the thing you asked for i'm going to steal your identify, forfeit all your assets, and get you on the no fly list.
Everything I have ever written for this blog is on wattpad here for your viewing pleasure. (don't worry about anything else posted there unless you like shitty band fics from ten years ago) (I put all the blog stuff there 5 years ago back when i was still using wattpad. that's why that's there. don't say one word to me about it)
#tobias told me on the phone is all lore that Tobias personally called me about and told me was true and that I should post to make sure everyone knows.
AO3
Skeletal: Ex-Catholic V origin fic
AO3 Wattpad
Tumblr Chapters: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty
Spirit: Prequel to Skeletal, Terzo's story
AO3 Wattpad
Tumblr Chapters: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter 12
10. The world is on fire, and you are here to stay and burn with me
hehe i finally finished it, i skipped absolution not because i dislike it but my concept for both absolution and deus in absentia are essentially the same so i thought it would be redundant.
thIs is not the end of my meliora series u bet im doing the deluxe songs muhehehe
AO3
Tumblr Chapters: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen
You can fool with your brother...
The hospital was twenty four hours of agonizing whiteness to Terzo. The left femur, right scapula, both forearms, and several bones in both feet had to be reset. Blood tests revealed he was actively dying of a blood infection so severe the doctors tested four times, somehow starving to death when he did not feel hungry and was no longer emaciated, and after six hours of rest, developed a brain hemorrhage which required an emergency craniotomy. Copia remained present for every second of it, whenever doctors weren’t forcing him out of the room. It was torture just to see his brother in pain, but he wouldn’t leave him alone. Terzo deserved to be witnessed - for someone to see his pain in all of its blood and sweat and feel bad for him, and hope for him. When at last it seemed Terzo was under control enough to rest, Cirice arrived. In a black suit and trench coat, with a gleaming silver mask over their eyes, they rescued Terzo again. They convinced the doctors to leave, they fed Terzo a drink of something from a small flask hidden in their breast pocket, and in less than fifteen minutes, he was conscious, dressed, and walking to the car on his own two feet.
“What just happened?” Copia gaped, walking quickly after them through the parking lot. “How did- what did you do?” Halfway, Terzo stopped leaning on both of them for support, and started unwrapping the gauze from around his head with a twirling wrist. There was nothing to say anyone had touched his head at all aside from his messed up hair, and even that sat perfectly, as if Terzo had spent an hour doing it in the mirror that morning, the instant he ran his fingers through it. He stopped in front of the driver's side door of the black company car.
“I’ll drive.” He wiped a smear of blood from his palm onto his pants and held out his hand.
“No- certainly not. You were just… we should not be leaving with you in such a state, frater. I am sure they still have much to do, and if we leave now then there will be questions- I can’t find a way to explain to those medical professionals that a witch arrived and somehow healed your bleeding brain.” Terzo tilted his head to the side.
“It was not a witch, Flip.” He pulled the grucifix chain out from under his black buttoned shirt, shining silver in the midday sun, and then made the sign of the cross over his chest. “It was a gift from God.”
“God?”
“God.” Terzo took the keys, unlocked the other doors with a press of a button on the fob, and climbed in behind the wheel. With no other option, Copia walked around the car to get in the front seat, but Cirice beat him. Relegated to the back seat like a little boy, he climbed in in a huff.
“God. Not Satan, no Devil that you worship, not even the beast that is said to possess you. It was God.” He buckled his seatbelt. Terzo did not. The sedan roared to life and Terzo reversed out of their spot in a maneuver so skilled Copia thought he lost control of the wheel for a minute.
“Not that one.” He pointed upward casually. “But there are other things down there…” He pointed downward. “That are not Lucifer Morningstar, are not the thing that our organization worships. Cirice is no witch, but a messenger. A voice and a hand.”
“He is split.” Cirice hissed, Copia thought to check them for a forked tongue while gripping onto the door handle in preparation for a crash that would not come. “Medicine and magic. Biology and beast.”
Terzo wouldn’t call it himself, but he felt more like a real living person than he had since he was eight years old. The last time he could recall having a personality, half of it was being snuffed out by an overwhelming urge to murder and maim. His brothers, maids, a ghoul, Father Alessandro, animals. That was not replaced by an innate desire to help the downtrodden and aid the sick, but it was gone. He could think clearly, in proper patterns and lines. His hands were steady. He was fine. He followed Copia’s directions back to the ministry and tossed the keys over his shoulder at him before striding inside and right up to his room. That determination he woke up with but a day ago would not go to waste.
To Allegra:
I hope you are well. I can never repay you for the grace and kindness you have shown me all these years. It is because you spent your birthdays lacing me up, skin and shoe, that I am able to write to you now. I am better than you have ever known me. If you are given leave, I would be pleased for you to visit me at the ministry at your convenience. The sun said it misses you. If not, I would appreciate a letter in kind to inform me that you are safe.
Sincerely, Cardinal Luciano
He wrote his letter quickly while the words were still on his tongue, and after unwrapping his many bandages, got into the shower. The impatient stream of water wasn’t a firehose, it wasn't a thousand tiny arrows blocking out the sun, it was like a massage. He scrubbed himself with soap he hadn’t caught the scent of until that moment, lathering his thick black hair and body until he simply could not wait a moment longer to feel the water again. Clean and smelling of pomegranates, Terzo dried off roughly before presenting himself in the foggy mirror he was avoiding.
He was older than the last time he had really taken a good look at himself, but very suddenly this was not displeasing. Despite everyone’s best efforts, he had grown into quite a handsome young man. Strong jaw, clear skin, strong nose, well shaped lips. I can work with this, he thought. First thing was first, his hair needed to be dealt with. He dressed himself in a very well fitted black suit and shiny black oxfords - buttoned, zipped, and tied himself - and strode down the stairs to find Marika in the foyer speaking with Copia.
“Hello.” He smiled warmly.
“Hell- Luca? I have just heard about your miraculous recovery.”
“Miraculous indeed, yes. I am feeling much better about it all. I just have a few questions for you, if I may.” He stopped in front of her with his hands behind his back. “Firstly, I have a letter which I would like sent to the underground, to my friend Allegra who brought me here. Where would I begin to have that posted?” Copia’s jaw dropped at how easily he was speaking, while making eye contact.
“Hold onto it until Thursday, and then they’ll call for mail in the morning before breakfast.” Marika answered breathlessly.
“Excellent, thank you. Next, there was a bank card I used to have at the estate, would you know if those accounts are still active or where that card is?”
“Well… I… the family accounts have been changed over. Wait here one moment.” Terzo smiled again happily as she went off.
“Are you really better, just like that?” Copia snapped.
“Eh, my soul is still rattling around a little bit, but it’ll settle. Please give me the key to the estate now.”
“Are you really going back?”
“Just for some of my personal affects. Then I may burn it to the ground, but I haven’t gotten that far yet. We will see if there is still some petrol in the garage. The key, please.”
“Can I come with you?”
“No. Did you get me that cell phone?”
“No, of course not, you were in the hospital. What do you need money for?”
“I am losing my- no, I have already lost my patience for this conversation with you. Get me the key, Copia, or you will not be happy with yourself.” In fear and revulsion, Copia trotted upstairs. Marika returned with his old black leather wallet, and a set of keys.
“Here you are. There is a new bank card and new identification for you.” The only thing that used to be inside of it was a department store gift card, but carrying it around made him feel like a man. “And the key for the estate, the gates, and your new car.” She winked at him. “Come look at this.” He followed her outside onto the stone steps, where a brand new black Alfa Romeo 4C was waiting with the engine running. “It was meant to be a gift for your recovery, when you seemed yourself again and well enough to drive, but it seems you have beat all of our expectations, and I suspect your own.”
“Oh, you’ll spoil me rotten.”
“Paid for with the family trust, which should be our little secret.” Terzo kissed her cheek.
“What the hell is that!” Copia gasped and pointed from behind them. Terzo smirked and jingled the keys in his face. “You get a sports car for remembering how to drive, and for my birthday I got a single cupcake. This is corruption.” He gave said cupcake to a girl he liked.
“He deserves it, after everything.” Said Marika.
“I will hear that every day for the rest of our lives.” Copia muttered.
“Remind me of this church’s sins again… I do remember lack of aesthetic being on the list.” Terzo strutted backwards down the steps while smirking at his brother. “I will run a few errands, and be home on time for dinner. Have a blessed afternoon, you two.”
Terzo had never been to Rome on his own before, so without a map or any kind of GPS that he knew how to work, he let road signs and his heart guide him to a hair salon. Something handsome, not too short, but off my neck, if you can. Whatever you think might suit me. Having his scalp massaged by the experienced hands of a woman with red fingernails long enough to scratch him just right was euphoric. Sitting in the chair with the cape around his neck felt distinctly undignified, but who was looking anyways? Her endless compliments over the thickness and rich color of his hair made up for it. He left a very generous tip, took a card so he could return, and got back into his car with a fancy bag full of very expensive gels, shampoos, and pomades. Next, to a shopping mall, where he ordered three new identical suits, low-key to be suitable for casual wear in the ministry but of the finest material, custom tailored. Then, to a cell phone kiosk in the mall, where he charmed another young woman into explaining in detail how to use the newest and best smartphone on the market. His inexperience was explained by telling some tale about how he spent five years in Tibet with the monks learning about zen and nirvana.
The lock on the gates to the estate were nearly rusted shut. He forced the skeleton key on his ring into the slot and gave it a few jiggles before it twisted and the doors swung outward. He drove the rest of the way to the house and did not stop to give himself a moment to think until he was already inside. He listened for Enrica’s clomping footsteps, Lorenza’s tip toeing, and Teresa’s heavy heels. He even listened for an old man cough, or the disappointed sigh of a woman. It was silent.
“Anyone home?” He called. No one answered but his echo. Swiping a fingerful of dust off the wainscotting, he walked into the main parlor and took his old pistol off the mantel above the hearth. He pulled the hammer back and fired it into the ceiling, and nothing came, not even the pitiful click of an empty chamber. He hung it back in place - why display an old pistol where something like a sword or a hunting rifle, something more dignified, would go?
The bedrooms were exactly as he remembered. His pathetic little suitcase was still in the corner of Secondo’s room, Primo’s door was still bolted shut, Copia’s room was still suited to the most obsessive compulsive eight year old, and the master bedroom on the highest floor was still completely empty. No furniture, nothing in the closet, nothing in the bathroom, not a chair on the balcony, they may as well have even taken the fixtures. Why still own a mansion no one will live in? Why wouldn’t they sell the haunted family home and accept that they were not that anymore? Divvy up the profits and get a nice apartment or small house each, and call it a day. No two members of his family would ever be on that property at the same time again.
Everything in his bedroom was exactly as he left it. The duffel was still packed with his party outfits, and sports kit, and jewelry, which he pocketed. Violin in the corner of the room next to an old boom box. The straight razor he dissected himself with, still crusted around the handle with blood, in its permanent home in the bottom drawer of his ensuite. Margarette’s emerald green hair scarf was still tied around the inside handle of his closet, the bed was still unmade from their romp that afternoon - one of her earrings fell out at some point during the day, and they were both sure it was somewhere in the sheets. He didn’t love her, he didn’t think he was capable of that sort of thing for any purpose other than abusing his charm for a trick or treat, but when he dropped back into his dusty bed, he thought of her phone number again.
It would be out of service after a decade. She is likely married. Maybe she moved to America like she said she wanted to. She could still live in that same apartment in the city, with her mother and step father and two little brothers, taking over or taking care. As long as Terzo did not know, he could still hope that the curly girl in his memory achieved all her wildest dreams and forgot him quickly. The world still turned while he was hidden from it, even if his home never changed. That was the bitterest pill of all.
Terzo packed his violin, music books, his favorite two colognes, and a vase he always liked from the parlor, into his Alfa Romeo. Just as he was closing the passenger door, saw a man in the distance riding on a lawn mower. He walked straight over to the man, stomping on the freshly cut grass, until he was close enough to wave his hands at him. The man stopped, turned off the extremely loud machine, and pulled off his large headphones.
“Excuse me, but what are you doing here?” The gruff older man, chin grey with facial hair, cleared his throat and looked around.
“Cutting the grass. What are you doing here?”
“My name is Luca, I own this estate.” The man looked him up and down.
“You look like you do. I keep getting paid, I keep cutting the grass.”
“Why not just pocket the money, if no one is around to know the difference? No one lives here anymore.” The man recoiled, like Terzo was insane.
“I wouldn’t take advantage like that. I’ve been here twice a month for twenty six years.” Terzo nodded slowly. “I can stop, if you like.”
“Do you want to stop?” The man shrugged and sat back in his small leather chair. Terzo looked around. The grass was neat where he had just cut, and still so but longer where he hadn’t gotten to yet. The trees were large and beautiful. And the sky, the sunset, was every shade of pink and purple. Then and only then did he catch the damp and sweet scent of a lilac bush by the fence. What a peaceful way to spend two evenings a month. “I suppose you may continue, then. If the money ever stops coming, you can call whatever number you have, or you can stop. Stop whenever, if you like.” The man put his headphones back on, restarted his machine with the rip of a cord, and continued on his mission. Terzo got back in the car and drove back to the ministry fast with the windows down, just to feel the wind in his hair. With an hour left before dinner, he climbed on the hood and laid back with his hands under his head to take in the last of the fresh air.
Terzo assumed that this sudden recovery, reinstation, was recompense for all that he’d suffered. It was not. He paid for it every night when he returned to his room. Nightmares so viscous that if he weren’t woken up by his own screaming he was paralyzed until sunrise. Dread, as if dread was a person, banging his head with its fist and banging all the doors and windows to get to him. For as long as there was nothing in the world he loved other than himself there was no need to show gruesome scenes of his family and friends perishing, but every night he relived his time at Primo’s hands, second by second, lashing by lashing, drowning by drowning. Sometimes he was child sized in his big bed and Nihil was sitting in the chair across the room, naked and watching. Sometimes, it felt like the spirit was holding his wrists and ankles spread like The Vitruvian Man while his father took what he thought he owned.
The urge to walk into the garden was so strong that Terzo repeated Secondo’s banishing phrase over and over again until he could fall asleep or the sky lightened. He called on Cirice for more healing but the moment they arrived at the gates, they turned away. There was nothing to do but let things balance themselves out. He paid, and paid, and paid, every night for months.
Hello, long time no see, eh? 😅
I’ve been away from the fandom for a bit, but I just wanted to share with you the two artworks I created for the Meliorazine projects that will hopefully come to light soon.
This first one is based on the song “Spirit,” of course, and it will be accompanied by a brief text explaining its backstory. Both pieces revisit the 1920–30s poster style.
Hope you are all alright and enjoy this contribution 🌹
Which will be the second song? 👀
hey team, im gonna be in LA from the 29th-4th (ten days from now) if anyone wants to hang out. (I'm serious) (i fucked up baaaad and now i have no plan for what im going to do there) (im nice in person i swear)
AO3
Tumblr Chapters: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen
You can fool with your brother...
The hospital was twenty four hours of agonizing whiteness to Terzo. The left femur, right scapula, both forearms, and several bones in both feet had to be reset. Blood tests revealed he was actively dying of a blood infection so severe the doctors tested four times, somehow starving to death when he did not feel hungry and was no longer emaciated, and after six hours of rest, developed a brain hemorrhage which required an emergency craniotomy. Copia remained present for every second of it, whenever doctors weren’t forcing him out of the room. It was torture just to see his brother in pain, but he wouldn’t leave him alone. Terzo deserved to be witnessed - for someone to see his pain in all of its blood and sweat and feel bad for him, and hope for him. When at last it seemed Terzo was under control enough to rest, Cirice arrived. In a black suit and trench coat, with a gleaming silver mask over their eyes, they rescued Terzo again. They convinced the doctors to leave, they fed Terzo a drink of something from a small flask hidden in their breast pocket, and in less than fifteen minutes, he was conscious, dressed, and walking to the car on his own two feet.
“What just happened?” Copia gaped, walking quickly after them through the parking lot. “How did- what did you do?” Halfway, Terzo stopped leaning on both of them for support, and started unwrapping the gauze from around his head with a twirling wrist. There was nothing to say anyone had touched his head at all aside from his messed up hair, and even that sat perfectly, as if Terzo had spent an hour doing it in the mirror that morning, the instant he ran his fingers through it. He stopped in front of the driver's side door of the black company car.
“I’ll drive.” He wiped a smear of blood from his palm onto his pants and held out his hand.
“No- certainly not. You were just… we should not be leaving with you in such a state, frater. I am sure they still have much to do, and if we leave now then there will be questions- I can’t find a way to explain to those medical professionals that a witch arrived and somehow healed your bleeding brain.” Terzo tilted his head to the side.
“It was not a witch, Flip.” He pulled the grucifix chain out from under his black buttoned shirt, shining silver in the midday sun, and then made the sign of the cross over his chest. “It was a gift from God.”
“God?”
“God.” Terzo took the keys, unlocked the other doors with a press of a button on the fob, and climbed in behind the wheel. With no other option, Copia walked around the car to get in the front seat, but Cirice beat him. Relegated to the back seat like a little boy, he climbed in in a huff.
“God. Not Satan, no Devil that you worship, not even the beast that is said to possess you. It was God.” He buckled his seatbelt. Terzo did not. The sedan roared to life and Terzo reversed out of their spot in a maneuver so skilled Copia thought he lost control of the wheel for a minute.
“Not that one.” He pointed upward casually. “But there are other things down there…” He pointed downward. “That are not Lucifer Morningstar, are not the thing that our organization worships. Cirice is no witch, but a messenger. A voice and a hand.”
“He is split.” Cirice hissed, Copia thought to check them for a forked tongue while gripping onto the door handle in preparation for a crash that would not come. “Medicine and magic. Biology and beast.”
Terzo wouldn’t call it himself, but he felt more like a real living person than he had since he was eight years old. The last time he could recall having a personality, half of it was being snuffed out by an overwhelming urge to murder and maim. His brothers, maids, a ghoul, Father Alessandro, animals. That was not replaced by an innate desire to help the downtrodden and aid the sick, but it was gone. He could think clearly, in proper patterns and lines. His hands were steady. He was fine. He followed Copia’s directions back to the ministry and tossed the keys over his shoulder at him before striding inside and right up to his room. That determination he woke up with but a day ago would not go to waste.
To Allegra:
I hope you are well. I can never repay you for the grace and kindness you have shown me all these years. It is because you spent your birthdays lacing me up, skin and shoe, that I am able to write to you now. I am better than you have ever known me. If you are given leave, I would be pleased for you to visit me at the ministry at your convenience. The sun said it misses you. If not, I would appreciate a letter in kind to inform me that you are safe.
Sincerely, Cardinal Luciano
He wrote his letter quickly while the words were still on his tongue, and after unwrapping his many bandages, got into the shower. The impatient stream of water wasn’t a firehose, it wasn't a thousand tiny arrows blocking out the sun, it was like a massage. He scrubbed himself with soap he hadn’t caught the scent of until that moment, lathering his thick black hair and body until he simply could not wait a moment longer to feel the water again. Clean and smelling of pomegranates, Terzo dried off roughly before presenting himself in the foggy mirror he was avoiding.
He was older than the last time he had really taken a good look at himself, but very suddenly this was not displeasing. Despite everyone’s best efforts, he had grown into quite a handsome young man. Strong jaw, clear skin, strong nose, well shaped lips. I can work with this, he thought. First thing was first, his hair needed to be dealt with. He dressed himself in a very well fitted black suit and shiny black oxfords - buttoned, zipped, and tied himself - and strode down the stairs to find Marika in the foyer speaking with Copia.
“Hello.” He smiled warmly.
“Hell- Luca? I have just heard about your miraculous recovery.”
“Miraculous indeed, yes. I am feeling much better about it all. I just have a few questions for you, if I may.” He stopped in front of her with his hands behind his back. “Firstly, I have a letter which I would like sent to the underground, to my friend Allegra who brought me here. Where would I begin to have that posted?” Copia’s jaw dropped at how easily he was speaking, while making eye contact.
“Hold onto it until Thursday, and then they’ll call for mail in the morning before breakfast.” Marika answered breathlessly.
“Excellent, thank you. Next, there was a bank card I used to have at the estate, would you know if those accounts are still active or where that card is?”
“Well… I… the family accounts have been changed over. Wait here one moment.” Terzo smiled again happily as she went off.
“Are you really better, just like that?” Copia snapped.
“Eh, my soul is still rattling around a little bit, but it’ll settle. Please give me the key to the estate now.”
“Are you really going back?”
“Just for some of my personal affects. Then I may burn it to the ground, but I haven’t gotten that far yet. We will see if there is still some petrol in the garage. The key, please.”
“Can I come with you?”
“No. Did you get me that cell phone?”
“No, of course not, you were in the hospital. What do you need money for?”
“I am losing my- no, I have already lost my patience for this conversation with you. Get me the key, Copia, or you will not be happy with yourself.” In fear and revulsion, Copia trotted upstairs. Marika returned with his old black leather wallet, and a set of keys.
“Here you are. There is a new bank card and new identification for you.” The only thing that used to be inside of it was a department store gift card, but carrying it around made him feel like a man. “And the key for the estate, the gates, and your new car.” She winked at him. “Come look at this.” He followed her outside onto the stone steps, where a brand new black Alfa Romeo 4C was waiting with the engine running. “It was meant to be a gift for your recovery, when you seemed yourself again and well enough to drive, but it seems you have beat all of our expectations, and I suspect your own.”
“Oh, you’ll spoil me rotten.”
“Paid for with the family trust, which should be our little secret.” Terzo kissed her cheek.
“What the hell is that!” Copia gasped and pointed from behind them. Terzo smirked and jingled the keys in his face. “You get a sports car for remembering how to drive, and for my birthday I got a single cupcake. This is corruption.” He gave said cupcake to a girl he liked.
“He deserves it, after everything.” Said Marika.
“I will hear that every day for the rest of our lives.” Copia muttered.
“Remind me of this church’s sins again… I do remember lack of aesthetic being on the list.” Terzo strutted backwards down the steps while smirking at his brother. “I will run a few errands, and be home on time for dinner. Have a blessed afternoon, you two.”
Terzo had never been to Rome on his own before, so without a map or any kind of GPS that he knew how to work, he let road signs and his heart guide him to a hair salon. Something handsome, not too short, but off my neck, if you can. Whatever you think might suit me. Having his scalp massaged by the experienced hands of a woman with red fingernails long enough to scratch him just right was euphoric. Sitting in the chair with the cape around his neck felt distinctly undignified, but who was looking anyways? Her endless compliments over the thickness and rich color of his hair made up for it. He left a very generous tip, took a card so he could return, and got back into his car with a fancy bag full of very expensive gels, shampoos, and pomades. Next, to a shopping mall, where he ordered three new identical suits, low-key to be suitable for casual wear in the ministry but of the finest material, custom tailored. Then, to a cell phone kiosk in the mall, where he charmed another young woman into explaining in detail how to use the newest and best smartphone on the market. His inexperience was explained by telling some tale about how he spent five years in Tibet with the monks learning about zen and nirvana.
The lock on the gates to the estate were nearly rusted shut. He forced the skeleton key on his ring into the slot and gave it a few jiggles before it twisted and the doors swung outward. He drove the rest of the way to the house and did not stop to give himself a moment to think until he was already inside. He listened for Enrica’s clomping footsteps, Lorenza’s tip toeing, and Teresa’s heavy heels. He even listened for an old man cough, or the disappointed sigh of a woman. It was silent.
“Anyone home?” He called. No one answered but his echo. Swiping a fingerful of dust off the wainscotting, he walked into the main parlor and took his old pistol off the mantel above the hearth. He pulled the hammer back and fired it into the ceiling, and nothing came, not even the pitiful click of an empty chamber. He hung it back in place - why display an old pistol where something like a sword or a hunting rifle, something more dignified, would go?
The bedrooms were exactly as he remembered. His pathetic little suitcase was still in the corner of Secondo’s room, Primo’s door was still bolted shut, Copia’s room was still suited to the most obsessive compulsive eight year old, and the master bedroom on the highest floor was still completely empty. No furniture, nothing in the closet, nothing in the bathroom, not a chair on the balcony, they may as well have even taken the fixtures. Why still own a mansion no one will live in? Why wouldn’t they sell the haunted family home and accept that they were not that anymore? Divvy up the profits and get a nice apartment or small house each, and call it a day. No two members of his family would ever be on that property at the same time again.
Everything in his bedroom was exactly as he left it. The duffel was still packed with his party outfits, and sports kit, and jewelry, which he pocketed. Violin in the corner of the room next to an old boom box. The straight razor he dissected himself with, still crusted around the handle with blood, in its permanent home in the bottom drawer of his ensuite. Margarette’s emerald green hair scarf was still tied around the inside handle of his closet, the bed was still unmade from their romp that afternoon - one of her earrings fell out at some point during the day, and they were both sure it was somewhere in the sheets. He didn’t love her, he didn’t think he was capable of that sort of thing for any purpose other than abusing his charm for a trick or treat, but when he dropped back into his dusty bed, he thought of her phone number again.
It would be out of service after a decade. She is likely married. Maybe she moved to America like she said she wanted to. She could still live in that same apartment in the city, with her mother and step father and two little brothers, taking over or taking care. As long as Terzo did not know, he could still hope that the curly girl in his memory achieved all her wildest dreams and forgot him quickly. The world still turned while he was hidden from it, even if his home never changed. That was the bitterest pill of all.
Terzo packed his violin, music books, his favorite two colognes, and a vase he always liked from the parlor, into his Alfa Romeo. Just as he was closing the passenger door, saw a man in the distance riding on a lawn mower. He walked straight over to the man, stomping on the freshly cut grass, until he was close enough to wave his hands at him. The man stopped, turned off the extremely loud machine, and pulled off his large headphones.
“Excuse me, but what are you doing here?” The gruff older man, chin grey with facial hair, cleared his throat and looked around.
“Cutting the grass. What are you doing here?”
“My name is Luca, I own this estate.” The man looked him up and down.
“You look like you do. I keep getting paid, I keep cutting the grass.”
“Why not just pocket the money, if no one is around to know the difference? No one lives here anymore.” The man recoiled, like Terzo was insane.
“I wouldn’t take advantage like that. I’ve been here twice a month for twenty six years.” Terzo nodded slowly. “I can stop, if you like.”
“Do you want to stop?” The man shrugged and sat back in his small leather chair. Terzo looked around. The grass was neat where he had just cut, and still so but longer where he hadn’t gotten to yet. The trees were large and beautiful. And the sky, the sunset, was every shade of pink and purple. Then and only then did he catch the damp and sweet scent of a lilac bush by the fence. What a peaceful way to spend two evenings a month. “I suppose you may continue, then. If the money ever stops coming, you can call whatever number you have, or you can stop. Stop whenever, if you like.” The man put his headphones back on, restarted his machine with the rip of a cord, and continued on his mission. Terzo got back in the car and drove back to the ministry fast with the windows down, just to feel the wind in his hair. With an hour left before dinner, he climbed on the hood and laid back with his hands under his head to take in the last of the fresh air.
Terzo assumed that this sudden recovery, reinstation, was recompense for all that he’d suffered. It was not. He paid for it every night when he returned to his room. Nightmares so viscous that if he weren’t woken up by his own screaming he was paralyzed until sunrise. Dread, as if dread was a person, banging his head with its fist and banging all the doors and windows to get to him. For as long as there was nothing in the world he loved other than himself there was no need to show gruesome scenes of his family and friends perishing, but every night he relived his time at Primo’s hands, second by second, lashing by lashing, drowning by drowning. Sometimes he was child sized in his big bed and Nihil was sitting in the chair across the room, naked and watching. Sometimes, it felt like the spirit was holding his wrists and ankles spread like The Vitruvian Man while his father took what he thought he owned.
The urge to walk into the garden was so strong that Terzo repeated Secondo’s banishing phrase over and over again until he could fall asleep or the sky lightened. He called on Cirice for more healing but the moment they arrived at the gates, they turned away. There was nothing to do but let things balance themselves out. He paid, and paid, and paid, every night for months.
AO3
Tumblr Chapters: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen
You have given me all and there's nothing left to do
The work was described to Terzo as easy, and relaxing, by Copia and Marika. Other, older cardinals would be doing the most important work for Secondo, and much of the most active “outreach program” he’d heard about was handled by a different sector altogether. Read, attend meetings, attend sermons, things like that, simple stuff. When Secondo left he took Allegra back to the underground, and Terzo felt he had been cast into a world unknown, gasping in the ocean without a liferaft, aboard a sinking ship, on a deserted island, and Secondo did not even leave him one gun with one bullet - he made himself laugh when he remembered that movie, oh how the mind clings to small things.
On his first day alone, he spent every second outside of meals with a shoe in his lap and laces primed in his shaking fingers. He could do it. He knew how to do it. Loop, loop, twist… cross, something from there. The sister who brought him a laptop explained how to use it, but not well enough, and it took Terzo until evening to find a video on how to tie laces that did not feel patronizing. It was not the simple task of tying his shoes that was difficult for him, but more difficult to accept that it was the result of a much, much larger issue. He was frustrated easily. Looking at the computer for too long gave him a migraine. After twenty minutes of hard focus, the tremors became too much to overcome and he had to relax again. Eventually he figured he could just pull the laces tight and tuck them under his heel while he was out of the room, until he got it right.
On the second day, Copia brought him to the library for independent study, and selected some books as a good starting place for him. Comfortable at a desk with a stack of dusty literature and a cup of tea and several painkillers from Marika, Terzo opened the first page of the Satanic bible, and lost all hope for his future. All of the words, black letters on browned, worn pages, were more of a jumble of shapes. He brought his face as close as he could to the book, nose tip tickling the paper, and only then could he make out some distinct words. He hadn’t read a proper book since he was twelve, and hadn’t read anything since he was seventeen.
“…even his Church didn't seem to have a …clear answer.” He read aloud to himself softly. He would not accept failure over something so simple. So childish. Of course he can read, he’s a grown man.
“Are you having trouble,?” Copia leaned in from across the table over his own, some would say cocky, stack.
“No.” Terzo spat. Copia never expected the venom he was met with, at every turn, through every year.
“Okay, well…” Copia huffed and opened his own book with a thunderous crack on the desk. “If you need more light, you can bring a lamp or a candle over. Or there are braille copies, or audio recordings. I think we even have a copy with much larger text, if you like. Many options.”
“Fuck off, I’m trying to read.” Copia widened and rolled his eyes. Now, he knew how this sounded, and even how it made him feel, but knowing things that Terzo did not made him walk with a certain skip in his step. He wasn’t the stupid, useless brother anymore. He was very good at his job, and happy, and well-liked. Terzo had experienced a tragedy, of course, and he would give anything to make it go away, but for the few months it would take for him to recover and become a functioning member of society, Copia would enjoy his tiny pedestal. Before everyone started to follow Terzo again. Before everyone decided they liked him more, because he looked more like the others. Before Terzo convinced everyone against him, and pointed out each of his flaws to those who had been blind. After an hour and only three pages of progress, Copia brought a candle in a gold holder over and set it down between them without saying anything. Terzo was like a scared animal: at first he shied away from the light, holding the book in his lap and giving a disgruntled hum at the aid. And then, he put his book back flat on the table, because he was uncomfortable sitting up and for no other reason, and discovered that maybe light won’t hurt his endeavor. After a few pages he held the book up to the side of the candle. Then, in a moment of subconscious bravery, he placed the candle between his elbows and held the book ahead so he could read very easily. With this breakthrough, he was willing to push through his growing headache.
“We can send for an optometrist.” Copia, discreetly smug, sipped his fourth coffee of the day.
“What?” Terzo’s tone was the verbal equivalent of a lunge.
“An eye doctor. To check your eyes. Perhaps you need glasses.
“I’m twenty three, I do not need glasses.”
“Plenty of children wear glasses.”
“I am not a child, either- why do you want t- to help me?” Terzo slammed his book closed and wiped his sleepy eyes. “What is this to y…ou?”
“You are a bad person. I am not.”
“And helping a bad person does not make y- you bad?” Copia sucked his teeth as he sat back. Terzo could smell his rank coffee breath from across the table.
“The size of that question is not warranted after I suggested you get your eyes checked. I won’t baby you, brother, you need help. You need to go to a real hospital, with the type of machines that can tell you how you need to heal. You need physical therapy, mental therapy, to be sure. You need the type of help that we cannot offer you at the ministry, and if you accept it, they will take you, but you cannot be helped if you do not let us.” Terzo scoffed.
“I do not want help.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Of course you can. You tucked in your shoe laces. You had trouble reading, so you brought your own candle over here all by yourself. I have no doubt that a weasel like you will figure it all out, and that somehow you’ll get whatever you hope to get out of being here, and that the ways in which your attitude hasn’t changed will soon color these halls with a sickness that they have never seen before, and that people will love you for it, but there is something you don’t know. You can do it alone, but you don’t have to. You let Allegra and Secondo help you, and maybe you don’t trust anyone else, but think of this, seriously. Really think about it. When have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” Senselessly, all this time Terzo had blamed Copia’s birth on Copia himself, when really, technically, that wasn’t possible. His brother’s crimes against him were less so against him, and more just character flaws. He didn’t tell when Terzo tried to murder him in the woods. He didn’t take his home and lovely possessions when offered. He said he was sorry for the tragedy of his life and that he missed him, and even if it were a pacifying lie, he still had the courage to speak it. Terzo had no proof at all that Copia had ever betrayed anyone, or even lied before, when he had been given just as many chances as the rest of them. His only real sin worth any salt was that he wanted a relationship with his brothers so pathetically that whenever they were a part of the question posed, he would jump at the chance to prove how little self respect he could have if it meant they would show him an ounce of kindness.
Terzo much more preferred Allegra and Secondo’s styles of aid: gleeful, almost forceful positivity balanced with complete acceptance of Terzo’s refusal to engage, or instructions, maybe even demands, that were exclusively given to make him recover faster and teach him how to be, that did not come with some kind of pitiful simper or overt tenderness. He did prefer his elder brother’s tenderness to anyone else’s, because it was reserved exclusively for him, and when he needed it, not when he wanted it. The way he held him in that towel only days ago made him know that he had been remembered, and his heart beat like a drum about it.
Terzo had to be different to anything he’d been all his life if he intended to survive the rest of it without being beaten, tortured, or banished ever again. He couldn’t be bratty and demanding. He could not be weak and half - half of anything: a man, a beast, a boy, a bruise. He could not be angry, could not be violent. Through all of those claims of knowing how to be a good boy and well behaved, Terzo had never considered that in order to follow through with that, he did in fact have to give up the rest of it. Goodness is goodness itself, not a wish in a well or a blue moon. Primo was actually right about something: “Everyone knows how to be good. Whether or not you are capable is the question, and whether or not you choose it.”
“Is there a telephone here?” Copia leaned to the side to pull a cellphone out of the back pocket of his trousers, and placed it on the table between them. “Is there a regular telephone here?”
“You know what a cell phone is, Luciano.”
“Yes, I know what a cell phone is, Flip. I just would like- like a regular one. With buttons.” Copia wanted to roll his eyes and call him a brat again, because he did deserve it, but he asked for something, like he hoped he would.
“There is a landline in the office, I believe. Who would you like to call?”
“Two.”
“It’s no use. He is in Japan now, and with the time difference he will either be on stage or asleep. You could call him late in the evening, or the morning.” Copia closed his book and walked out of the library, leaving his stack neatly in his place. Terzo sat back and closed his eyes to give his straining mind a break, while no one was looking. When he was little, Secondo used to tell him the only way out was through. When he was struggling at school, or in himself, Secondo would sit his little brother down, and calm him with a gentle hand, and say that the only way to get out was to find the exit, or make one yourself, and get there. Terzo knew that the same sentiment should be applied to his return to personhood: the only way to get better is to get better. He just didn’t know where to start. Getting glasses felt like a drop in the ocean of the necessary tools and medical procedures that his body would require to be considered ‘in working order’ again. Reading one book out of the thousand expected of him felt nothing like progress, not even close.
He would have to develop some type of mental strength he never had before. Everyone who knew said that he was so brave and strong for surviving the underground, whatever they thought happened to him, but that really wasn’t true. He did die, he was not strong enough to survive, but for the rest of the decade that he was breathing down there in the darkness, it wasn’t his own mental resolve that kept him going. It wasn’t the indomitable human will giving him hope for a better life. It was not his sound mind, his enduring character, that kept him alive. It was the mercy of others every few years, and the spirit that inhabited his body which dragged him kicking and screaming through unmerciful life. If that possessing spirit really did want him to be happy, it would have let him die while Sister Loretta was drowning him, while Stayin’ Alive was still throbbing in his teenage brain.
Copia returned and tore a sheet of paper out of a spiral notebook, which he kept to himself, and placed the rest of the book in front of Terzo. He scrawled something quickly before handing over the sheet and pen. “That is Secondo’s cell phone number, and the cell phone number of one of the members of staff that follow on tour. You should be able to get ahold of him there, if not on his own phone. We aren’t exactly supposed to have cell phones, but mine has not been taken. Tomorrow I will go into town and get you one too, so you may call Secondo whenever you please. You are welcome to come with me if you like.” Perhaps Copia was more like his brothers than previously thought. Terzo did not need to consider.
“That is… I am not fit-t for that yet.”
“We could go to the hospital. That would be a good start.” Getting used to sleeping in a bed sounded like an even better start. “Write down a list of things you need that will help aid your recovery. If you do not know what you need, you can look up your symptoms on the computer you have, and that should help.” In silence, until dinner and then until sundown, they continued to read together in the library. Terzo pushed through until his migraine blinded him, and then closed his eyes for just long enough for the ache to dull, and then persevered again. A little headache was nothing compared to the feeling of a maggot wiggling around in the stump of his toe and eating away at his flesh. Nothing was, really.
Terzo sat in the arm chair in his bedroom, sipping on a cold cup of tea, staring at his bed. The maid had tightened the sheets on his bed too well, had made the blanket smooth and perfect, and so he could not convince himself to get into it. He couldn’t remember how he used to be so comfortable having people doing his bidding out of sight and mind, because the simple knowledge that someone had been in his room when he was not made him want to sleep in the garden. This is stupid. I’m a grown man, and that is my bed, and I am so tired. I can pull the sheets up and climb in, he thought. Then came the bargaining. I have to take my shoes off to sleep, but I won’t even change into pajamas. I can sleep in my clothing, under that heavy blanket, and I will feel safe, and not at all like I’ve fallen into a trap or a nightmare. If I can get into bed, I don’t have to try and tie my shoes again tomorrow. If I can get into bed, I won’t force myself through a shower. All of it was hopeless.
He crept downstairs and opened the heavy doors to the chapel as slowly and quietly as he could. Lit only by moonlight from the arched windows ahead, he took a seat in the pew closest to the door. He looked all around for some type of presence he thought the others must feel, which drew them into that room every morning and even for quiet moments of respite during the day. He searched for this Devil character in the pews, in the windows, in the walls, the wainscot, the confessional booth, and the pulpit. Even with his evil second sight, there was nothing in the room with him except some wood and metal. After fifteen minutes of patience, a pinprick ran from the nape of his neck to the bottom of his spine.
He spun around expecting a visitor, but there was nothing there either. It was so quiet he would have heard someone, and no one else in the ministry made a habit of wandering the halls in the middle of the night. He’d left the door ajar himself. There was nothing there, in either eye, but Terzo was so terrified he could not look away. The moment he did, it would take him. The second he turned around and got too comfortable, it would come for him. The instant he began to feel safe again, he would be ended. He watched that door in reverent horror, leaning backwards on the pew, until the sun began to illuminate the horizon. With what little light was afforded, he could see that nothing was there, and only then did he take Copia’s wrinkled note out of his pocket and bring it to the office.
Sitting was too far, but Terzo turned on the lamp on the desk, and held the receiver of the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could read the number and dial it at the same time. The tones each button made were so familiar to him that he thought of hanging up, and redialing Margarette’s number, which all of the sudden he remembered by heart. What has become of her? I hope she never knows what became of me.
Secondo answered on the fourth ring. “Brother, how are you?” He sounded fine, but tired. Terzo bit his tongue hard, like that might wake it up. “Hello?”
“How did you know it was me?” Terzo had considered the idea that if he did know it was him trying to call, he might not answer. He might never answer again, no matter how or when he called. He might never come home. He might not make it on time, again.
“I thought you would call sooner or later. Are you alright?”
“Yes.”
“Been eating?”
“Yes.”
“Taking your medication?”
“Some.”
“Well…” Secondo either sighed or grunted, one would never know. “What do you need?” ‘I just wanted to hear your voice’ was a stupid thing to say, in Terzo’s mind. And it was only partially true. ‘I just want to know that you still exist’ may have been more accurate.
“Can I trust Copia?” Secondo laughed, holding the receiver away so it wouldn’t deafen his brother. “No, then.”
“He is what he is…” Not much, not really. “But he does love us.”
“Why?” Terzo sat in the desk chair when he began to feel faint, and was shocked by the way it spun. He grabbed the desk to steady himself so quickly the phone almost fell out of his hand.
“No good reason. He’s a kid. He never went to war, so he grew up different.”
“He wants something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Something. Near or far.”
“Figure it out and maybe you’ll feel better about him. You were always good at that.”
“At what?”
“People. He’s too simple for malice, that should comfort you in the meantime. Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus.” Terzo felt a tiny pang in his chest, but nothing compared to when Secondo said those words last in the garden.
“Why did you do that?”
“You haven’t stuttered since you answered the phone.” Terzo pulled his knees to his chest in the chair and wrapped his arms around himself.
“You think the spirit would call you to ask if I was safe?”
“Why wouldn’t it?” If it wanted me safe it would have given me the strength to murder Primo when I was seventeen, Terzo thought. “You can write a letter to Allegra if you want to. They don’t have phones but mail is delivered twice a week. Something familiar to you. You are safe, brother, for as long as you don’t follow it into the garden. I have to go, there is work, but you can call again when you want to. If I don’t answer, I am busy, but I will call you back when I can.”
“How?”
“Talk to someone about getting a cell phone, and then give me the number. Otherwise, I’ll call here, or Copia, and they’ll get you. Alright?” Terzo held himself tighter. Nothing in the world was more glorious to him than the idea of returning to his third birthday party, with the ba-baf and the markers and the pretty wrapping paper. To sit in the basket of Primo’s legs when his strength wasn’t sternness, but solidarity. To be stretched four feet long and tickled. To say hi apa, because he couldn’t see the camera in Secondo’s hand around his big smile, and to call him apa, because he was not his father, but he was his dad. To happily say goodnight to the camera, and hope it slept well, as long as Tomo could stay. Going back to a time when his brothers still loved him was the dream that glazed his mind every night, but more and worse, he wanted to go back to when he loved them too. When, if he were asked, he would not have to weigh benevolence and malevolence before saying yes, I love my brothers, of course. Even to go back to when he had that curious feeling about whatever was growing in his mother’s tummy, when a baby was still a baby, and not a rat.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise, Luca. Goodnight.”
“Good morning.” Terzo waited for his brother to hang up before putting down the receiver. He stayed as still as a statue in that office chair until his head was too heavy to hold, and until he had to remind himself to keep a grip on his arms around his knees so he wouldn’t fall, and until his eyes couldn’t open all the way, so that when he finally went upstairs he would have no trouble getting into the bed.
In the morning, woken blissfully by the light through his massive windows, Terzo’s mind was lit with determination. There were things owed to him, by the world, the church, his brother, and himself, and he was going to take it. However, barefoot and clinging onto the railings for dear life, he had to drag himself down to the infirmary on the main floor. Something bone-like was protruding in his hip, and his feet were full of broken glass, and both of his elbows felt like they were unnaturally overextended no matter how he held his arms. The pain was blinding. The nurse gave him some morphine to stop him from screaming, but did little else except find two strong men who were able to carry him into a car, headed straight for the hospital.
Copia assumed his elder brother chose to take breakfast in his own room for some quiet. And then assumed when he wasn’t in the chapel in the morning, he was in the library. Then, assumed that if was not in the library, he must be stuck somehow in his room, and may need help. He knocked for twenty minutes, to no avail, before letting himself in. Shoes left by the unmade bed, windows wide open, Copia had half a mind to peak out and see if he’d jumped. Then, he started to ask questions. Though it was true that Copia was not only tolerated by his peers in the ministry, people went out of their way to speak to and spend time with him - he even had a not-so-secret admirer -, there was one issue about his person that he wouldn’t know where to begin rectifying. People didn’t tell him things. About their day, sure, and work related details or anecdotes, sure, but never anything urgent.
He was only recently made a priest the better part of a year ago, and the youngest ever at 18, because of his birthright, so he didn’t expect that anyone would think he was the man to go to in an emergency, but he was always the last to find out about everything. No one told him they were letting Terzo out until he was already in the Papal bedroom. No one told him that Primo was “stepping down” and Secondo would be taking over until the preparations for the ceremony were already well underway. No one bothered to tell him Terzo had been taken to hospital until he went into the infirmary asking after him.
He sped to the hospital, shivering with worry. Why would no one bother to alert him all afternoon that his brother was so gravely ill? No one even thought to mention it to him, when he’d mentioned Terzo several times already - I’m glad he’s home now, I think he’ll do well in his new remit, let’s pray for him. One day he would have to start being the man with the answers, like mother said, but no one would even ask him a question yet.
When Copia arrived at the hospital he rushed to the administration desk frantically, and when the nurse asked who he was looking for, he nearly said Terzo Emeritus. Tongue tied, it was not hard for the nurse to imagine that a rushing priest may be looking for the cardinal who was rushed in with two nuns. Sister Marta and Sister Dayanara were on their knees across from the door to his private room, heads bowed, palms pressed together, lips moving almost silently as they prayed for him. Terzo was screaming on the other side. Not a pained yelp, or a strained manly grunt like an action hero, he was screaming.
“My- what are they doing to him?” Copia’s blood rushed to his ears.
“I don’t know anymore.” Sister Marta whimpered. “They won’t tell us. A thousand tests in a thousand different machines. They drew blood- we were in the emergency room waiting until they moved us here, and that’s when the cracking started.” Copia didn’t have time to wonder. A heinously loud crack sound went off in the room, and Terzo screamed again louder than before. Rebreaking his misshapen bones, no doubt. If Terzo had been screaming like that under Primo’s hand for a decade, it was a wonder that no one took pity on him- Copia couldn’t set that right in his head. How had no one at the underground church taken pity on him except one girl and a witch? In all that time, if he’d been screaming himself hoarse and dying like that for a decade, how did no one stop Primo? How did anyone get any work done listening to that? How could anyone live with themselves knowing a boy was being tortured two doors down and still believe they were serving the greater good?
Copia sat in a chair next to Sister Dayanara. Family is family, good or not, bad or not, living or not. He never needed anyone to be good for him to love them, or for them to love him back. He had a wealth of it, so much of it in fact that once he thought instead of dolling out equal amounts of love each time their mother gave birth, she gave it extremely sparingly, until she realized Copia was the final son, and offloaded the remainder onto him. Now, it may have been easier if just once someone were willing to accept all of this love he had to give, nevermind reciprocate, but still, he would love anyways.
He had been promised a great deal of things in his life: firstly, that he would never live the sort of life his brothers did (whatever that was, he never knew). Secondly, that he would be made a priest on his eighteenth birthday and begin his work immediately. Lastly, that he would eventually become Papa. Even as a boy this sounded ridiculous to him - as if, in his lifetime, his three elder brothers would all be incapable of serving a very long career to their satisfaction, and that three failures later the duty would fall to him.
The odds never made sense. As he knew him, Primo was dedicated to the cause, almost to a fault. Secondo was away often, but Copia assumed it was another duty of the ministry. And Terzo… if he lived he would either become Papa eventually or run away, that was up in the air. So, if he believed he would one day ascend so high, that meant he would inevitably go to the same place his predecessors had. His self-described weakness of character would prove a hindrance or very useful in whatever would come. Just before Sister Imperator stole herself to her husband’s lair, she made another promise: Copia would beat his brothers. Not surpass, not succeed, not outdo. He would beat them.
Copia was so heartbroken listening to his elder brother’s cries that he was near tears himself. Whatever they were doing to him must have been for the best, would be better in the long run, and so they had no choice but to endure. The only way out is through. Hours later when the doctors left the room and allowed him in, Copia almost tripped over his own feet rushing in with the girls. Terzo was lying in bed with an IV in his hand, covered in bandages and casts and all sorts of things, glistening with sweat and half asleep. The weariest sigh escaped him.
“Frater, can you hear me?” Copia nearly collapsed at Terzo’s bedside. “Are you okay?” Terzo took a shallow breath and coughed into his shoulder weakly, before his eyes fluttered open and he saw at the sisters. They both sighed loudly in relief, one may even say dreamily.
“Sorry for the…” He turned his head so slowly toward his brother, and his face dropped. “Noise.” The word was as plain as day. He stared up at Copia with a dry admonishment. Copia sat down hard at the foot of the bed and prepared himself for a long evening in that uncomfortable chair, and many more to come.
okay i PROMISE there will be a spirit update in the next day or two. I wanted to write ahead so I could make sure i was going in the right direction without posting and wishing i could change something. i promise. you'll all be so sad.
Primo: cold feet, polo, war ration testing videos, dubious consent, kiwi skin, extremely complicated tie knots, survivalist books,
Secondo: pamela anderson, kappa, watching strongman competitions, chainsaw demo videos, single use plastic, sewing by hand or machine,
Terzo: watching extreme gore in a depressive episode just to feel something, girls night brand strawberry wine, cutting "to beans", cigarette breath, pamela anderson for a different reason, wolf cuts, Penny Lane, fila,
Copia: concussions, Americanos, claw clips, apple carving, waiting at the door after ordering a package, clapping after a movie ends (that he’s watching at home), armpit, plastic hot topic wristbands, hard water shower filter,
Perpetua: the douchebag shapeshifter in Futurama that convinces Leela he’s one of her kind so she’ll be his subservient wife, silly mug collections, the back section of spencer’s, missing keys on a laptop, ireland, perez hilton, a bleach and tone 👏, naked w shoes,
what inspires you guys when you make ocs? i’m really good at coming up with side characters but im having so much trouble fleshing out the main characters in my new book.
i can imagine how they look and fill out character sheets all day long but i feel like im missing a deeper connection with the character that makes me feel capable/ready to write them
