Happy birthday to the second (or third?) worst character I have! Falesyia Maricel Trenor, you beautiful, awful creature.
Here’s something I wrote like 4 years ago probably and just spruced up a little cause somehow it still works really well. Fair warning: both Falesyia and Aniello are awful people so this isn’t a nice scene lmao. It’s not terribly violent in itself, but it references recent terrible violence so uh. Read if ya want~
It was a day for murder.
Well. To be completely honest, days were more often "for murder" than not at this point. But on this day in particular, it was… necessary.
Aniello chuckled quietly as he let the final body slump to the floor, turning to look over the day's accomplishment. Thirty figures lay in various states of broken bloodiness, silent and still as the grave they'd be tossed in later. He did not leave survivors to wallow in agony and bleed their last breaths through suffocating lungs. This was not out of any sense of mercy, of course. Any torturing he did was done long before the final moment he killed them. None of it lethal, but designed to make them scream, make them sob and ultimately to beg him to end their pathetic lives. Only then were they given a quick death.
It was how she had done it.
Aniello tilted his face up and closed his eyes, breathing in the stench that would once have turned his stomach, listening to the perfect silence and his own deep breaths. He saw in his mind's eye a small figure, slender and beautiful, standing in a pool of blood She was splattered in it from her blonde curls to the soles of her bare feet. He saw her turn and look up at him with that wide, joyous smile. The one that lit up her blue eyes like the sky itself in the sun’s radiance. He heard her bell-like, gushing voice cry "oh, thank you, my love; that was wonderful!" And then she would disappear, leaving a faint outline of dried and drying blood behind her, (she was so clever, so thoughtful to have discovered that trick for him), and reappear by his side as her clean, immaculate self. She'd throw herself at him with further ebullient exclamations of pleasure, and--
Aniello opened his eyes, breathing out a sigh. The exhilaration dulled a little under reality’s weight. The memories were sweet and pure in those moments when he was doing what she had loved, but they grew emptier with each week that passed without her. This, her birthday, marked eight months since her death. Since her murder.
He turned to make his way to the door. Then he paused, laughed, turned his eyes to the ceiling, and with a quick Jump shed the flakes and drops of blood just as she had. He left his clothing as well, and sped through the floors and ceilings, heedless of all but the half-Light souls he avoided. His murder spree was over; he would let the remaining servants live for now.
He reappeared in his private bathroom. Steam rose from the bath he'd ordered set. One of the servants must have been set to watch for when he was nearing the end of his work, so the water would still be hot. Such good, careful creatures. It was fascinating how innovative servants became when you simply held their entire family hostage. Innovative and calloused.
Aniello sank into the bath, sighing with pleasure as the heat seeped into his muscles, easing the slight ache of exercise. "Happy birthday, my love," he murmured. And as he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her answer...
