capitol • willem westworth

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willem hades "cerberus" westworth
[3D3835] [7A2929] [ADAD85] [A1A1A1]
male. twenty-five. capitol. affluent mogul.

what you've dreamed of

Dearest Amelie,

This letter shall never reach you, but the intention is nonetheless present. I have yet to decide what to do with the words I put on this paper, unsure if they are even the truest feelings that exist within my soul. An ache has grown from the deepest pits of my stomach, bubbling up like a chemical reaction. I feel sick at the mention of your name, certainly unable to comprehensively deal with the thoughts you bring about.

Perhaps it's a saddening thought but my heart is forever yours. You hold it within your hands though you can no longer do anything with it. It was a day I dreaded, watching as you were lowered into the depths of the damp ground. There's a part of me that had always expected for that to happen; me standing above in a well fitted suit as you were lowered in that summer dress you loved so dearly. I felt it. I knew. I couldn't tell you how, my dearest love, but I knew that would always be the outcome. It frightened me so.

And yet here I sit, all alone in the large building we called home. It feels improper to refer to it as a home now as it is haunted with the memories we formed together. I occupied the bed for the first time since you passed, and yet there was not a single moment through the night that I actually slept. My mind was filled with images of your beautiful face, bright blue eyes and dotting freckles that I'd see every morning I awoke.

The doctor has told me that I must keep with the prescribed medications. He tells me that depression is a common symptom for those that have just lost a loved one. And yet he can't comprehend why I find myself in a state that is neither sad nor happy. I feel empty and as if a proper emotion could not quite summarize what I feel in my core. Your passing brings about sadness unrivaled by any feeling I've yet to feel and yet I know you'll be happier there.

My dearest Amelie, I wish only for you to live your life to its fullest. I'm sorry about how things ended. I know the disease would take you eventually. I couldn't sit and watch you suffer any longer. It burned deep within me. My heart ached every time you squinted your eyes closed. There wasn't a day that went by where I thought of the future you'd live. I hope you can appreciate that I wished to bring you to it faster.

I offer my deepest sentiments of love, my dear. May you rest and know that I love you with all my heart.

Yours truly,
Dr. Willem Westworth




-




Your hand is shaking, though it's nothing beyond normal. The alcohol has done nothing to prevent it, nor has the tiny pill that you swallowed back moments ago. You feel on fire, and yet feel as if you are drowning amongst all of the guilt surrounding you. It had to be done. She wasn't able to fight off the disease any longer. You could remember the pain in my face as my eyes moved behind closed lids. The doctors had told you of my coma, had said that I would likely never wake from it the way I had been before. Memories would fall away as my body shut down, and I'd need hospital care every day of my life. You decided that wasn't a life worth living. I died peacefully in my sleep that evening. All because of you.

You look pained, though you'd never admit to it. I can remember the days where you'd come home to me with nothing but a smile on your face. You'd tell of the incredible advancements your team had made with their new drug, explaining all about how you were one step closer to curing my disease. You always looked so cheerful and yet I could tell exactly what was going on behind your eyes. Will, you were always so pained. I strive for the day when you can be happy once more.

You told me of your father and how he was the hero you always looked up to. You told me that you wished to become him one day, hoping he'd be watching you from wherever we go after we die. You told me that you hoped he was proud you had become half the man he was. My dearest Will, you are far greater than you ever hoped to be. I was so proud to be loved by you, so glad that you had fallen for me. You needn't worry of who you make proud; we are all so glad to see the man you've become.

Your hand grasps onto the bottle instead of the glass this time, tipping it back as the burning liquid swims through your throat. I can feel the burn you feel. I can feel the dizziness you feel. The intoxication is kicking in. You promised me you would never drink again. And yet here you sit. You look scared. You look so afraid, my dear. Hands brush along the paper you have in your hands, the letter you wrote to me. Was it a mistake? Could she have responded well to the drugs? Your mind is still plagued with questions not worth answering. What's done is done. You can't change the past, only the future.

You always think of others before your self, always offering what you can to those who don't have access to it. It's a beautiful thing, what you've done for this world. But now it's time for you to concern yourself about your affairs. You look over your shoulder with paranoia, believing death will come for you soon. It's about time you took care of yourself, Will. I wish to be closer to you, to kiss you upon your cheek and tell of how I love you so. But you are so far away. So distant. I wish to be with you again, Amelie. I wish for that too, Will, but I'll never come back to you. Please don't come looking for me. You can never return from where I am.




-




The man stands, glancing out through the window into the rainy streets of the Capitol. His house is at the top of a hill, looking over quite a few of the nicer houses that fill the area. His name is Willem Westworth. He is the Vice President of one of the largest drug research firms in the Capitol, utilizing much of the information determined in Six and looking for breakthrough discoveries that could change the face of humanity. He stands with purpose, a glass in his right hand filled with a fine liquor.

The man breathes in, a shaky breath rocking through his chest. He has yet to control himself after the past loss. It usually takes a week or two before he is right back on his feet. She was, what, number eight? He finds himself fascinated by the death of the people around him, often times connecting with those who have terminal illnesses. Their situations fascinate him, and he offers them a friend for their final days. Some believe it to be sick. They believe him to just be a clever politician, working those that are weakest to benefit him. They believe him to manipulate the dying folk of the Capitol to turn over their estates to him. Was that ever the motivation?

The man has always been charitable, but he does not view his friendship as an offer of charity. He finds himself intrigued with the mindset of the dead, believing that he has already begun the process required to die. It's a fascination that has grown too obsessive, too powerful. He can't quite keep hold of it, finding it more and more drug like as the years pass by. Having so much money at his age, he seeks nothing but the satisfaction of figuring out death. He wants to solve it like a puzzle, not realizing it can never be fully solved. He seeks out a hit once the previous one wears off. Addictive and dangerously so, he follows death.

what

Hi there! My name is Damen and you can find my character tracker here.

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bump.

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Accepted!