- Local time
- Today 11:07 AM
- Messages
- 261
- Age
- 37
- Pronouns
- he/him
There was a silence hanging over the house, the kind of silence one could hear a bug belch as loud as a clap of thunder. Daylight would break soon, light was beginning to change the black of night to the bright of the day. The sunlight was beginning to water down the inky darkness to a dark violet and then made a gradient down to a lighter shade of indigo. Even around the house outside there wasn't the sound of birds beginning their own days. An unnerving silence to wake up to. Vincent Krugle was about to learn that the silence that filled his home was going to be the least unnerving thing that he would encounter.
Those cobalt blue eyes opened up, his head was pounding as he desperately tried to think of what had happened the night before. He had some drinks, that much he did remember, but it certainly wasn't enough for him to lose his memories. In all honesty he never really got black out drunk, it was something he had seen his father do and avoided doing anything that would be repeating behaviors of his old man. It was then he realized he was laying on the floor in his little library, the creeping dawn was beginning to bring a little light into the room. It caught on the green leafy plants he had hanging in front of the window. He groaned a little bit as he pulled his aching body off the floor and went to the kitchen, his hand grabbed the sunny yellow mug that had been his sister's favorite. It was still strange to think of her in the past tense. He filled it with water from the jug on the counter and quickly drank it down.
Vincent leaned on the counter and looked out the window at the cracking dawn. He didn't notice at all what he had left on the jug or on that cheery mug. There was something about his left arm that was aching, he just assumed that he had slept on his arm wrong. He had woken up on the floor, it would make sense that he might have some aches and pains this morning. He lit a candle to navigate around the rest of the house, Vincent was still feeling a little tired and some sleep in his bed next to his wife sounded like it would be a good idea.
As he walked down the hall towards the shared bedroom, that was when the light from the candle caught the bright orange hair splayed out on the floor. He recognized it immediately as his wife's hair, he ran over in a panic to see if she was alright. The light revealed the truth of what she was doing on the floor.
Red.
Radelia's sleeping gown was covered in it, a look of horror and pain frozen on her face. There were several slashes to her arms, but it would seem the knife found its way through her defenses. The bloodied weapon laid next to her, coated in the crimson sticky liquid. Vincent then noticed what had been on him the whole time: his darling wife's blood coated his left arm and painted his clothes. The wounds that were inflicted on her were savage in nature, it would seem he gave her little mercy in his stabbings. From the looks of things he had kept stabbing her long after she had shuffled off her mortal coil.
The tall man closed his eyes as he desperately tried to remember what had happened that night. The only memories that surfaced were the echoing cries and pleas of his beloved; his left hand twitching and almost grasping the invisible knife in it. Her voice was muffled in his thoughts as he tried to focus on them. Vincent wasn't any closer to hearing those final words than he was when he woke up.
While Radelia's last words eluded him, the words of his father-in-law rattled around his mind. Radelia's adoptive father had hated Vincent from the first moment he had started to court his daughter. Talon had known of Vincent's father and the blood trail that Tobias left in his wake. Vincent had tried to convince Talon that his wolf nature was under control, that the violence from his father had missed him. It would seem his true nature had risen to the top despite his best efforts. There had to be something he could do, but that's when he noticed something even more disturbing.
When had he started to smile?
He quickly wiped the expression off his face. Something wicked had awoken within him, a part of him that had savored the death of his wife. Vincent sat there next to his wife, his warm hand taking her cold hand into his. He would have to bury her and either tell Talon what had happened or flee. For now he quietly sobbed, grieving the loss of his wife by his own unconscious hand.
Those cobalt blue eyes opened up, his head was pounding as he desperately tried to think of what had happened the night before. He had some drinks, that much he did remember, but it certainly wasn't enough for him to lose his memories. In all honesty he never really got black out drunk, it was something he had seen his father do and avoided doing anything that would be repeating behaviors of his old man. It was then he realized he was laying on the floor in his little library, the creeping dawn was beginning to bring a little light into the room. It caught on the green leafy plants he had hanging in front of the window. He groaned a little bit as he pulled his aching body off the floor and went to the kitchen, his hand grabbed the sunny yellow mug that had been his sister's favorite. It was still strange to think of her in the past tense. He filled it with water from the jug on the counter and quickly drank it down.
Vincent leaned on the counter and looked out the window at the cracking dawn. He didn't notice at all what he had left on the jug or on that cheery mug. There was something about his left arm that was aching, he just assumed that he had slept on his arm wrong. He had woken up on the floor, it would make sense that he might have some aches and pains this morning. He lit a candle to navigate around the rest of the house, Vincent was still feeling a little tired and some sleep in his bed next to his wife sounded like it would be a good idea.
As he walked down the hall towards the shared bedroom, that was when the light from the candle caught the bright orange hair splayed out on the floor. He recognized it immediately as his wife's hair, he ran over in a panic to see if she was alright. The light revealed the truth of what she was doing on the floor.
Red.
Radelia's sleeping gown was covered in it, a look of horror and pain frozen on her face. There were several slashes to her arms, but it would seem the knife found its way through her defenses. The bloodied weapon laid next to her, coated in the crimson sticky liquid. Vincent then noticed what had been on him the whole time: his darling wife's blood coated his left arm and painted his clothes. The wounds that were inflicted on her were savage in nature, it would seem he gave her little mercy in his stabbings. From the looks of things he had kept stabbing her long after she had shuffled off her mortal coil.
The tall man closed his eyes as he desperately tried to remember what had happened that night. The only memories that surfaced were the echoing cries and pleas of his beloved; his left hand twitching and almost grasping the invisible knife in it. Her voice was muffled in his thoughts as he tried to focus on them. Vincent wasn't any closer to hearing those final words than he was when he woke up.
While Radelia's last words eluded him, the words of his father-in-law rattled around his mind. Radelia's adoptive father had hated Vincent from the first moment he had started to court his daughter. Talon had known of Vincent's father and the blood trail that Tobias left in his wake. Vincent had tried to convince Talon that his wolf nature was under control, that the violence from his father had missed him. It would seem his true nature had risen to the top despite his best efforts. There had to be something he could do, but that's when he noticed something even more disturbing.
When had he started to smile?
He quickly wiped the expression off his face. Something wicked had awoken within him, a part of him that had savored the death of his wife. Vincent sat there next to his wife, his warm hand taking her cold hand into his. He would have to bury her and either tell Talon what had happened or flee. For now he quietly sobbed, grieving the loss of his wife by his own unconscious hand.