I want you to know that being kind is overrated
Hands grab at Rashk while he stumbles against a wall, pressing his back flat against it as the world spins and spins in his eyes. He tastes copper, something hot and liquid running over his lips, a gleam of wet red over smeared, glossy black.
Rue’s eyes burn a bright green, the rest of the world hazy and flickering. Rashk breaks out laughing and then he can’t stop, not even when the other Keeper’s expression shifts from concern to alarm.
“Never better,” the fortune teller says, brushing aside the stammered concerns and suggestions to return to the clinic.
He bares bloodied teeth in a grin, forgetting any promises of future pain as he reaches up and cradles Rue’s face between his hands. The breath he exhales is gentle, but the kiss he presses onto the other man’s lips isn’t, his mouth full of blood and lies, staining Rue’s pale skin with bright crimson.