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To Amelia,

Huh.   Fancy you getting all tech-savvy in your old age.   I’ll admit – didn’t expect to see you here.   That’s one to you, lady.   You’re usually into action first, talking later, and writing – never.   Isn’t that how it goes?

I don’t know what you want this time.   Last time – wasn’t that fucking enough?   And yeah – I mean that in every fucking sense of the fucking word.   I’m not playing bloody happy families with you, Amelia.   You fucked me over then, and I don’t play so nice nowadays.   I’ve got through some pretty crazy shit just fine – I don’t need you, I don’t want you – I don’t like you.   I never did.   Not even at the start.

I don’t give a shit about bloodlines or blood relatives or blood oaths.   I owe you nothing – you were the one who fucking proved to me that our kind killed off the need for families: that it’s not even ‘culturally relevent’.   You said yourself – humanity’s weakness.   And I listened, Amelia.   Death spoke, and I bloody listened, all right?   To date, I have one imaginary guardian, a random housekeeper, a bunch of anonymous readers and Twitter followers I’ve never even seen, and a ‘friend’ who I’ve thought regularly of just eating.   That’s it.   I learned well, okay?   No outsiders.   No-one else.   No-one else for you to play with.

No ties.   No dangers.   No worries.   It was your fucking creed, lady.


So why don’t you just fuck back off to whatever hell-hole you crawled out of, bitch?






One Comment

  1. Darling boy. Still so angry & impetuous. You are delicious.
    Tonight would be a good time to play. I will meet you where our mutual friend met his untimely death. It seems apt.
    Come, Jonathon. Else I may have to begin my game with another friend of yours. Kane, was it? Or Jenna? Mitch, maybe.
    I have been having a lovely read, my love. Thank-you.

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