choir boy,
hummingbird has been preying on your flock. ask mallard if you don't believe me. sin sows it's own punishments, but consider expediting those results.
we can't expect the beast to do all the work.
signed,
a friend.
He finds the note in the pocket of his blazer, the same one he was wearing in the townhouse. Neatly-folded, smooth-edged, and bare of wrinkles; a gift tucked with a swift, skilled hand, keen on leaving its presence undetected until the right moment. The sight of it leaves him with a sinking feeling long before he unfolds it. His brow furrows with the beginnings of a scowl as soon as he begins to read, the needling, oddly familiar manner in which he’s addressed stoking his irritation and discontentment alike. His gaze continues to skate across the paper, pausing significantly over the mentions of HUMMINGBIRD and MALLARD, lingering on the comment about the Beast, then finally halting at the signature.
A friend.
Certainly the same one who branded him and his entire crew with an unforgivable betrayal; who held a knife to one bird’s throat while bestowing a gift upon another; who dared to turn their scattered flock into his very own cluster of pawns.
Eres crushes the note in his fist. Into his flesh and his mind, the words burn and burn.










