#except now!

[messisiempremessi]

im noticing an anti rachel zane renaissance and i don’t mind at all…

[zibiscusloon]

{The First Wondertart}

TW!!: Heavily implied suicide and death! If these are sensitive subjects to you please don’t read!

(I want my blog to remain safe for all my friends and mutuals so please scroll past if these are subjects you’re uncomfortable reading!)

“I don’t even know if you can hear me. Lord I hope you hear me..” Hyacinth signed, rubbing his temple with a drawn out sign.

He’d been unable to come back here. This hedge, this stone, brought back to many days of old. Simpler days. Days of convincing a then 12 Amaranth to try out his first version of the P. Sugar. She coughed up pink dust for weeks..

It brought back days of dodging arrows aimed for his back as his older sister laughed and shot bow after bow. He ran like hell.

“I figured it out. I did it. I’ve learned the secret.” Hyacinth chuckled, leaning down to his sister’s grave, laying down a mysterious pastry.

“I know.. how to control Death itself. I’ve uncovered the secret of the heavens. No one has wanted to listen to me though.. Hell.. I’m sure that even if they did. They wouldn’t want me to waste my discoveries upon you. Lord, some days, I find myself genuinely agreeing with them.” Hyacinth cried.

“You really are a bad person Mar-Mar.. I know this.. Chalice knows this, you know it.. he knows it.. but I’m not mad. I should be mad. I want to be mad at you. But I’m not. And it’s driven me to plain lunacy.” Hyacinth reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a worn out dented dagger. Their father had always kept it hidden away under the hardwood floor.

“This, my dear sister, is the Wondertart. My magnum opus. It’s truly beautiful. It.. controls the Astral Plane itself. It could bring you back. Back to me. Back to her.” He signed, tracing his finger along the blade’s damned edge.

“Lord who am I kidding? Not to me.. not to me..” he lamented.

“This creation, revolutionary as it is.. requires sacrifice. My darling sister..” Hyacinth stumbled, raising the dagger above his head. Each second feeling like a raging pound in his head.

“I.. am the sacrifice..”

…

The tart was blood soaked, almost as though it were the world’s singled handedly most gaudy inedible strawberry spread, laced with the soul of a broken man.

The tart would not be feasted upon, it would simply lay their, remaining fresh, even with age. It would be found by a ghost, the Lady of Treachery. 600 years in time. The treat’s origins unclear to her. Who in trade for her life, would give up her memories.

She was no longer Amaranth the Treacherous.

She was simply Amara.

There was no Calix Animi, no King, no kingdom, no betrayed confidants, no betrayed lover, no Devil, no Hyacinth.

She was simply a scared, lonely child.