I breathe in, then out. I savor the mont, the breeze, the gentle waves. I welco the fresh scent of fish, but then, in the next mont, I vomit. Does it happen?
Has it activated? It must. It must work. Otherwise, I may as well start digging my own grave. But it works. I feel it. My fingernails extend, peeling off from my body, my skin shedding, my hair falling out and replaced by longer strands. It hurts. My blood burns. Like fire. My body is afla. It hurts, but I groan again, pretending to start another round, screaming in pleasure as if today is my last day to create life. I hate myself. I hate everything, but I must push through. I watch as my face falls toward my knees, my skin peeling off and sticking to the new skin, even as my tight shirt and pants hold it in place, keeping it from falling into the filth of the reds. My hands are nothing but blue flesh, and every touch is painful, though not as much as it should be.
Still, it hurts. The touch, as I quickly try to take off my shoes, throw my shirt over my head, loosen my belt, and let my pants fall. Finally, my underwear, and now, I am a blue person. Blue like those burned by the sun, my smooth skin on the floor, but in the next mont, another layer forms over . On my arms, my chest, my stomach, my face. I can’t see it, but I know it’s my brother’s, Lieben’s, skin. I am changed. I walk with bare feet into the next cell. My toes press into the muck, which feels like mud, but slls a thousand tis worse.
I stand before the children, who cling to each other, trembling. They’re naked, like . I want to offer them my hand. To give them a new ho. But I cannot. Not yet. It’s too risky. I can achieve so much in the future, but not here. Not yet. So, I stand before them, sit behind them while they continue to tremble. It hurts more to leave them, those I’ve only just t, than to kill my own brother. I strangle them. I don’t kill them. I simply put them into a state of unconsciousness. It hurts to leave them behind. To hurt them, but I must. Only ten breaths, and they’re still. Not like my brother, dead, but sleeping. Although this sleep will likely have worse consequences for them than if they had died.
I tremble at the thought, but I continue. Upward, letting the fading light affect . The blues stare at . “Lord Rosenmahl.” I raise my fingers, interrupting them, the three who spoke simultaneously. I sigh. No, I can’t expose these children to this world.
I must do sothing now. If not now, I will only delay everything. While I doubt my own guilt, an idea cos to , and it convinces to help the children after all. I give a disoriented smile, the one Lieben always has when he finds sothing amusing.
“Take them from below to this address.” I glance at one of the three with disdain while I mi the action of paper and pen. As I wait too long, I click my blue tongue.
“Excuse , Lord Rosenmahl.” One runs hastily to a table, grabs paper and pen, and hands them to . I look proudly at it, still murmuring sothing, inventing words that Lieben might say.
“Little piglets can be pigs too, don’t you think?” My voice mimics Lieben’s playful accent, but I regret saying it, as the three smile at , leering.
Greedily, as if they now want to try what I supposedly did. “Bring these little piglets here, and only here. No one is to touch them. From now on, they are mine.”
Even if Father won’t like it, Lieben will suffer, not Aston. “Excuse , Lord Rosenmahl.” I look mockingly at the one weaker than the others. His crooked teeth chatter as he speaks. “What about the younger Lord?”
I stare at him, and he falls silent. “The youngest may mistakenly prefer the older ones.”
I hand the note to the strongest of the three while my tone shifts from playful to serious. “He’s long gone, probably to another brothel, but let say it one last ti. If I sll even a drop of your seed on them, know that your genitals will be the last thing I’ll feed to the sharks. The two are mine, and I don’t share lightly.”
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