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24. She's not good for you
Angioletto's Pov
Darkness is still paramount, and yet, I am awake—wide eyed awake.The calendar says Wednesday, the time reads 5am, the birds sing a beautiful morning song, and my heart sings a bloody song.
Torture is my forte.
I say I have no heart, and yet, when I’m tasked with the duty to torture offenders, I feel that dead organ of mine palpitating ridiculously.
I love the thrill, and the mess.
And in this moment, when I walk into the holding cell and my eyes land on the soldier who’s restrained to an iron chair, I feel a rush of blood in my veins.
I am finally breathing.
Walking to the end of the large room, I pull another iron chair with me, the legs scraping across the roughly plastered floor. And when I’m in front of the restrained soldier, I finally stop, throwing myself on the seat with a sigh.
We stay silent—the soldier and I. It’s in
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