Tweet
<font color=lightblue size=1 face=arial>[c]Der Mutter die mich nie geboren[/c][c]hab ich heute Nacht geschworen[/c][c]ich werd ihr eine Krankheit schenken[/c][c]und sie danach im Fluss versenken[/c][c](Of the mother who never gave birth to me[/c][c]I have sworn tonight [/c][c]I will send her a sickness[/c][c]and afterwards make her sink in the river)[/c]</font>
*'Perfect.' Those had been her last word. Words that were now burned into his mind and would never leave him again.
What was she thinking? ...Perfect. She did not even know who he was at first. It took the showing of the mark on his shoulder to prove it to her.
The Sith Lord smirked. The look that had appeared on her face was priceless; he would treasure it.
But the deed was done now. Many questions were answered and dearest 'mother' was now simply rotting masses of flesh in the basement of a half-destroyed building on Iridonia.
The room smelled of her blood. It was on his clothing, in his hair, on his skin.
Raine frowned. He was not sure what had come over him. The actual killing was easy enough. A lightsabre through the chest. But he had not been satisfied. He wanted to get back at her for everything. The dagger that Ame had given him before she was killed finally served a sickening purpose.
The Sith lord sat up and looked down at himself. He had changed again. Not dramatically; unlike before. Just enough to irritate him. It was painfully obvious that he had lost more than just a 'little weight'.
A strange laugh passed from his lips as he ran a hand through his hair and let himself fall back on his bed.
He was home now. The only family he had came from his blood brother. How ironic.
Perfect. Perhaps she was right. After all, he had outlived the other clones of the project and he had somewhat 'evolved' into something completely different than what the creator had expected.
No one had seen his return, but he was certain a select few had sensed it.
He would face the council in a few hours to notify them of his return, nothing more. The secrets he found were his to keep and no one would ever need to know them. They all knew enough as it was.
He sighed and spun the guilty dagger in his hand while staring at the ceiling. Without a word he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and began to cut away the flesh of his arm that had been branded with the number 13.*
<font color=lightblue size=1 face=arial>[c]...auf meiner Stirn ein Muttermal[/c][c]entferne es mit Messers Kuss[/c][c]auch wenn ich verbluten muss[/c][c](...on my forehead, a birthmark[/c][c]remove it with the kiss of a knife[/c][c]even if it causes me to bleed to death.)[/c]</font>
[c]<font size=1>Lyrics from Rammstein's Mutter[/c]</font>
Comment