Archivist note: This post is from an older recovered archive.
==Diary: The Widow and the Wasp II==
((Posted by Bianca Namori on July 2, 2010))
I slammed the door to my room with such a force Zeus would of taken notice himself. I was so mad at her! How dare I let her slip out, even for a moment and how the struggle still burned within me as I ripped my flesh from the blasted dress I wore to Mr. Melnik’s moments before. I trampled the dress as I stepped out of it like an angry child upon a roach before making my way to sprawl out on my bed. There she was…laughing hysterically in my head at the frustration I felt.
"Shut up…" I growled at her. Yet she still laughed.
"I said shut up!!" and sat up looking at my mirror that hung innocently on the wall before me. I rose and approached my greatest enemy, and the only person that knew me better than myself and eyed her frame drowned in bloomers and an over fixed corset.
"Why are you so made habibi? You didn’t care about manners and face when we played in the sands, now did you?" she laughed at me again.
"I hate you…" I sneered.
"I am you…" she whispered, "There is nothing you can do about it either. I mean, there is, but nothing you -want- to do about it at least." she laughed again crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at me sternly. "Now come, wash us down and prepare for bed. We’re sweaty and gross and its not because we’ve been doing our job, now is it?"
I just stared at her coldly and pulled us from the mirror to prepare for bed.
Hours later I emerged from the bath with dragging feet and soaking wet hair, my bed my only sanctuary. The sun was rising…had I wasted that much time satisfying her corrupted needs within my shower? Dear gods I hoped not…and into the bed I feel as she was silent as morn.
I looked to my nightstand and saw the bloody cloth that had Mr. Melnik’s signature on it and took it within my pruned grasp. I looked it over as if trying to pull out parts of his life’s story through the blood itself before it hit me. She wasn’t the only one attracted to this red liquid of woe…
I took a sniff breathing in the ripened aroma of iron, lavender, and dirt and sighed as a fox in the heat of a dangerous moment. She was satisfied for now…but was I?
Yes…yes! I had to be satisfied or it would mean trouble! Trouble yet again! No more could my hands be soiled with the pain of death! No more can I feed and take justice into my own hands…
I rolled over and tucked the kerchief into my pillows casing. Darn it why…why oh why did I kill that slaver? It was his way of life…and in that realm that IS the way of life. I killed him…and the girl was grateful…until I killed her too…the blood trickling down her pretty neck…the sinew that was grasping for life within his torso. I hated throwing that gorgeously crimson dyed dress…but I knew that my dear uncle would discover it and worry intently. I can’t have her knowing about us…no, not yet. I want him alive, even if she doesn’t.
She was asleep…I should be too.
I can’t see him again….we can’t see him again…we must avoid him like the plague upon our mind that he is. Dear friend or not…he was dangerous to us in his own right…
That’s why we love him so…
