The Bleed
Who: We the cousins
When: On the eve of June the twenty-fifth
Where: At the residence of Toris Lorinitis
What: Do hereby declare these truths to be self evident in the aversion of 'relative' peril or the lack thereof.
Certainty was not always certain within a man's self perception.
Raivis, for example, had no discernible leads as to how Point A (the Beilschmidt manor) had passed rapidly through points B (the Braginski estate) to point C (the catacombs) to point D (market place) and at last, Point E (Toris's dwellings) without his knowing. He dimly recalled some slight of hand into an elder gent's pocket, tasting dirt on his tongue, streaking through hostile moving bodies with a fever pitch of red blooming all over the stretch of his skin. He didn't quite trust himself then- not when his breathing had quickened to a rat's pace; vapid, shallow, quick.
"Toris."
A cough rattled through his engorged throat, leaking just over his teeth with a ghastly croak. When he hadn't been avoiding Gilbert, he'd been roaming the city with Sindre's gang and when he hadn't been with Sindre's gang, he'd been curling up on rooftops- falling asleep to the stars forever beyond the reach of one young man's outstretched grasp.
He smacked his palm against the door, slumping until the cool of the frame seeped into his forehead. "Toris. A-answer the damned d-door..."
The only certainties in life, in Raivis's world, was suffering. And death.
When: On the eve of June the twenty-fifth
Where: At the residence of Toris Lorinitis
What: Do hereby declare these truths to be self evident in the aversion of 'relative' peril or the lack thereof.
Certainty was not always certain within a man's self perception.
Raivis, for example, had no discernible leads as to how Point A (the Beilschmidt manor) had passed rapidly through points B (the Braginski estate) to point C (the catacombs) to point D (market place) and at last, Point E (Toris's dwellings) without his knowing. He dimly recalled some slight of hand into an elder gent's pocket, tasting dirt on his tongue, streaking through hostile moving bodies with a fever pitch of red blooming all over the stretch of his skin. He didn't quite trust himself then- not when his breathing had quickened to a rat's pace; vapid, shallow, quick.
"Toris."
A cough rattled through his engorged throat, leaking just over his teeth with a ghastly croak. When he hadn't been avoiding Gilbert, he'd been roaming the city with Sindre's gang and when he hadn't been with Sindre's gang, he'd been curling up on rooftops- falling asleep to the stars forever beyond the reach of one young man's outstretched grasp.
He smacked his palm against the door, slumping until the cool of the frame seeped into his forehead. "Toris. A-answer the damned d-door..."
The only certainties in life, in Raivis's world, was suffering. And death.