find our sisters | beryl

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

B E R Y L F I L L I S

THE WOLVES, THEY'RE CIRCLING AROUND ME

He stomps dramatically through the house, throwing open doors and glancing around desperately. One would think that he was frantic, scarred from the sight of Poppy and Amrin's dead bodies, but no. That's not quite the case. He's just lonely.

"Adam, baby. Where are you?" He taps his foot by the threshold of the dining room, letting his gaze slip to corners where his boyfriend couldn't possibly be hiding. I'm so hungry, he whines in his head, entering the room and making a show of tossing things around. "All it takes is a little storm and murder for the maids to quit their jobs. Sad."

He spins on his heel, resting his back against the edge of the grand table and glancing down at his nails. It's strange being alone, performing for himself. He is a strange and terrible boy, full to the brim with sugar and acid. Beryl Fillis is not a bad guy — no, he's the good guy. That's literally his brand.

He's a lot of things. Ignorant, yet wickedly clever — sweet, yet cruel — an angel fond of sin. He's the charming prince of a dark and terrible empire. It is still his kingdom. "If the killer is listening, please spare me." He glances up, flashing a smile at the nothingness in front of him. "I'm already rich. I'll double Nox's stupid prize."

The truth is that Beryl's parents wanted him to participate simply to secure the land the Nox manor was built on, and the contacts that Malcolm had spent years gathering — everything he did was for the Fillis drug cartel, every wasted hour of sleep and growl of his stomach. And now he's left with this.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

He sighs in exasperation, picking up a knife from beside him and throwing it at the nearest wall. It stabs into the plaster and stays there. He rolls his eyes, bored. "Adam, if you don't find me then I'm leaving you. I really don't care enough to stay." At the end of the day, his only priority is himself. He could care less about any of these strangers.

"If I don't find any food in this cupboard, then don't even bother with me. I'll already be dead."

BUT I AM HUNGRIER THAN THEM

searching for food key ;
68ia1_dgFT1-10

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[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

B E R Y L F I L L I S

THE WOLVES, THEY'RE CIRCLING AROUND ME

"Oh. Scratch what I said."

He huffs in frustration and slams the cupboard doors shut, blowing his hair out of his eyes. "I've never heard of a poor mansion. What's the point?" Like a cat he swipes at a candle holder on the dining table, pouting as it clatters shrilly against the floor. "I hate it here."

There's no audience, but he's still performing. Call him spoiled, he'll call it tired. He presses his knuckles to his lips, fighting back a quiet yawn. He does this as if he hasn't just woken up. It's just easier to sleep than to deal with this mess — why should he bother? What is there to gain?

This is the prince playing the villain — a gold crown and a white tunic, pretty in the sunlight and lethal at night. Beautiful and clever and so entitled; he has never been challenged before this. He has never been asked to be more than a rose coloured boy in a bloody empire.

That's the burden of a legacy.
The next chapter of this story is his to define.

All he can do is shrug, tossing open drawers and shoving dishes out of his path. He doesn't even know what he's searching for anymore. It's too much effort to consider who he is, or who he's meant to be — the son of drug lords, a snake in the grass, a boy with endless loyalties. Call it a sin, he'll call it necessary.

"Please. I'll eat anything."

Call him starving, he won't dsiagree.

BUT I AM HUNGRIER THAN THEM

searching for food key ;
gW68tc|1oj1-10

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