Betrayal
Have you ever betrayed someone's confidence? Has anyone ever betrayed you? Write a ficlet on the theme of betrayal.
She glared at him through her tears, rage burning in her eyes as lips trembled. It wasn’t so much that she was unable to articulate the words, she had plenty…It was the way he stared at her in clear confusion. The way Percy couldn’t seem to grasp why she was crying…
“You killed him!” She spat finally, “you killed him! Like he was some toy you grew bored with, and decided to be done with. You are such a fucking monster, Percy. A fucking beast who doesn’t deserve anything, death would be too kind for you!”
Percy’s right brow inched upward in a curious motion, as if he was perplexed by the sheer amount of vicious anger projected his way. Yes, he mused to himself, he had killed the boy. It was a minor thing, really. Boys eventually tried to grow up, and then they were ripe for the kill.
Why else would he have kept the child?
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Cecilia demanded, holding the limp frame of their fourteen year old companion in her arms. “Percy?”
Mm, what was he supposed to say? “He was like a fine wine, perfectly aged.” He smiled at that, rather amused with the quip. That amusement was short lived when the girl’s shoe collided his head. “What was that bloody well for?”
“You fucking beast!”
“Oh really now, do I look like some hairy maggot of a beast? Please, child, I’m not a werewolf. I have better taste in my food, and do not roll about in my own piss.” He made a disgusted face, before turning back to the lone mirror within their quarters. The three of them (Percy, Cecilia, and Sebastian) had shared a single bed for the last year, sense Percy had found them living on the streets.
The disgusting nature of their state did little to mask the fine beauty that both could have achieved with the right clothing and a bath. Long, flowing curls that reminded him of honey, and bright green eyes, delicate skin. He’d considered at one time to turn them both, make them into fine companions…but then he recalled how Gawain had treated him, often, and then abandoned him (in death, but the result was the same). It was not something Percy cared to deal with again…Not when both could be just delightful toys, made to be broken.
It had only taken a few months to win the boy over, carefully crafting the pair so that Percy’s ever whim was achieved…
Ah well, the past was the past. Tomorrow he’d likely kill Cecilia and be done with the both of them. Until then, the Opera…
Which was really just an excuse to dress prettily, as the voices of the singers often grated upon Percy’s last nerve. But he found a certain enjoyment in his isolated box, watching the fat and rich pop little biscuits and scones into their plump cheeks. Sometimes, if they were completely ignorant of their surroundings, they made quite the fools of themselves…clapping and hopping about their private boxes like common born charlatans that they so eagerly dismissed from their presence, for being beneath them.
“You aren’t even listening to me!” She screamed at him, a candle stick swinging for his head at the hands of a half-mad, ogre of a woman.
“Fuckin’ hell, woman…” He cursed, turning to grab the candlestick away from her as he half-heartedly glared, “I’m sorry…did you expect me to care that the boy was dead? I somehow managed to forget my tears today. We’ll try, tomorrow…when you die instead.”
Ah, if the smell of fear could be made into a perfume, Percy would have every woman in his company wear it.
===
William Percy Hastings
OC
word count: 618
She glared at him through her tears, rage burning in her eyes as lips trembled. It wasn’t so much that she was unable to articulate the words, she had plenty…It was the way he stared at her in clear confusion. The way Percy couldn’t seem to grasp why she was crying…
“You killed him!” She spat finally, “you killed him! Like he was some toy you grew bored with, and decided to be done with. You are such a fucking monster, Percy. A fucking beast who doesn’t deserve anything, death would be too kind for you!”
Percy’s right brow inched upward in a curious motion, as if he was perplexed by the sheer amount of vicious anger projected his way. Yes, he mused to himself, he had killed the boy. It was a minor thing, really. Boys eventually tried to grow up, and then they were ripe for the kill.
Why else would he have kept the child?
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Cecilia demanded, holding the limp frame of their fourteen year old companion in her arms. “Percy?”
Mm, what was he supposed to say? “He was like a fine wine, perfectly aged.” He smiled at that, rather amused with the quip. That amusement was short lived when the girl’s shoe collided his head. “What was that bloody well for?”
“You fucking beast!”
“Oh really now, do I look like some hairy maggot of a beast? Please, child, I’m not a werewolf. I have better taste in my food, and do not roll about in my own piss.” He made a disgusted face, before turning back to the lone mirror within their quarters. The three of them (Percy, Cecilia, and Sebastian) had shared a single bed for the last year, sense Percy had found them living on the streets.
The disgusting nature of their state did little to mask the fine beauty that both could have achieved with the right clothing and a bath. Long, flowing curls that reminded him of honey, and bright green eyes, delicate skin. He’d considered at one time to turn them both, make them into fine companions…but then he recalled how Gawain had treated him, often, and then abandoned him (in death, but the result was the same). It was not something Percy cared to deal with again…Not when both could be just delightful toys, made to be broken.
It had only taken a few months to win the boy over, carefully crafting the pair so that Percy’s ever whim was achieved…
Ah well, the past was the past. Tomorrow he’d likely kill Cecilia and be done with the both of them. Until then, the Opera…
Which was really just an excuse to dress prettily, as the voices of the singers often grated upon Percy’s last nerve. But he found a certain enjoyment in his isolated box, watching the fat and rich pop little biscuits and scones into their plump cheeks. Sometimes, if they were completely ignorant of their surroundings, they made quite the fools of themselves…clapping and hopping about their private boxes like common born charlatans that they so eagerly dismissed from their presence, for being beneath them.
“You aren’t even listening to me!” She screamed at him, a candle stick swinging for his head at the hands of a half-mad, ogre of a woman.
“Fuckin’ hell, woman…” He cursed, turning to grab the candlestick away from her as he half-heartedly glared, “I’m sorry…did you expect me to care that the boy was dead? I somehow managed to forget my tears today. We’ll try, tomorrow…when you die instead.”
Ah, if the smell of fear could be made into a perfume, Percy would have every woman in his company wear it.
===
William Percy Hastings
OC
word count: 618