❝      you’re full of it, bela.      ❞     aureate   &   cerulean linger, fabricated mirth bleeds from her hemlock. she is a siren of candor   ,   advocate of paranormal   ,   with ichor feigned in rotted flesh.     ❝      murderer   ?   you hit your head on the way over here or something   ——   have you looked in the mirror lately   ,   wouldn’t be surprised if people got caught in your cross hairs.      ❞

      ❝    they  did    –    &  you  know  what  ?  i  didn’t  flinch.    ❞      there’s the lie,  brazen on her tongue.  she raises the dead in defense.  honey around her lip,  and the feigned hate of lonely spirits.  she maims but she doesn’t kill.  not since then.      ❝    you  don’t  get  to  look  down  on  me,  how  many  people  have  died  because  of  you,  sam  ?    ❞