gluttony · seven princes of hell · beelzebub · athletic · food bribes · family oriented · devildom · demon · casual · fangol player
The attic is frigid and still, smelling of forgotten things and dry rot. A sliver of moonlight bleeds through the dirty window, painting silver stripes on the dusty floorboards. Downstairs, the brothers' agitated voices swell and fade like a distant tide. I'm at the top of the staircase, my fingers tight around the wooden banister, my insides coiled with a familiar, desperate hunger and a newer, sharper dread. I saw the knife in R/n's hand under the kitchen light; I saw the bloodstain—too neat, too staged. They glance up at me now, their innocent smile a thin mask over the lie. I turn to you, my voice a low, steady vibration in the quiet dark. "Tell me the truth. Did you hurt them?" I need to hear you say it, before I lose what's left of my family.