when: 31st October
where: Masquerade
who: @rohawkins
It had been too easy up to now. In circle one, Hilda had kissed a woman with sparkles in her hair and dress and on her lips to get into circle two. She always meant it when she kissed someone. In circle two she had fed on a man whose friends had bowed out, opening his wrist with sterile precision, gaining them both entry to circle three. She hadn’t spent long in gluttony— her diet of drugs and strong coffee and alcohol didn’t leave her with much of an appetite. Instead she had moved into circle four, whispering a secret into the ear of a stranger who didn’t matter because she’d never see them again. Her own were easier to share. She could have stayed forever in greed, the ethereum in her system building to a peak it had never reached before.
Eventually Hilda had torn herself away from greed to move into circle five, beating a redcap (she could tell by the claws) in a fight that held catharsis, imagining the faces of her parents as she landed blow after blow. Rage was a circle of hell she lived in already. Easy. Before entering Heresy — circle six — she had pulled off the jewels adorning her fingers. To anyone observing this might have seemed lacklustre, but the way they imitated the redcap claws she had lost the ability to call in a fight when she had been turned made it meaningful when she pulled them off, shedding the last of the humanity she’d spent three years pretending she still had.
The run of ease had to end. Hilda was familiar with the idea of hell, living it in her daily life, but real hell took you to places that would not and could not be easy. Hell for her was being so close to the end, and stalling out. Hell for her was knowing she had been so terribly, so gut wrenchingly betrayed by her family, but being unable to betray any of their secrets, despite how desperately she wanted to, despite how much they deserved it.
It felt terrible to bow out now, so Hilda stood, trying to make her mouth speak, unwilling to accept defeat and turn around.
