Consequences.
Consequences.
Consequences.
It was a constant reminder in the back of my mind. A debt owed. A debt to be repaid. Blood for blood. Flesh for flesh. Bargains made with gods rarely had ways out of them, save for fulfilling the terms. Or dying.
And the devil collected, even in death.
Where everyone else had two sides of themselves, two voices locked in perpetual war over what was right and what was wrong, I had only my father. Perched over my shoulder from the moment I drew my first breath.
Whispering. Urging. Applauding.
There was no conscience in me to speak of. No internal mechanism that pumped the brakes when rage boiled over, or desire turned sharp and hungry, or cruelty simply felt like the most natural thing in the world because it was.
If I was angry, I wanted to kill. If I was hungry, I fed until there was nothing left to take, human wreckage be damned. If I wanted something, I took it. Simple as that. No hesitation. No horror at myself afterward.
