[swinging by my neck from the family tree]

╰┈➤ ❝ ugly angels spoke to me. the blame, i heard them say, was mine. ❞
╰┈➤ the double image, anne sexton

"ESTHER, PLEASE!" Tears filled her eyes as she begged. Begged for forgiveness, begged for sympathy. Begged for anything that would bring her sister back. The sister she knew. The sister she'd helped their father take care of. The sister she had helped dress for school. That little girl was long gone, now turned into a bitter woman. A woman who placed faith in a group of people that had convinced themselves they were doing the right thing. "This isn't fair! I didn't do anything wrong!" Hot tears slipped down her cheeks as she struggled against the large man's arms. They were like irons wrapped around her, locking her in place. "You're gonna hang me for not killing a kid? This is what we've become?"

"You chose to go against the Prophet." Esther responded, a hateful glare in her eyes as she neared her older sister.

A scoff escaped her lips as she stared down at her younger sister. "Listen to yourself. You want me to gut a child! This isn't what she wanted!"

"Who are you to declare what the Prophet would want?" Esther snapped. Her grip on the knife's handle tightened. Knuckles whitened under the pressure. She nodded towards one of the older men. After a moment, a rope was tied around Ruth's neck, tightened. The woman thrashed around, begging, pleading. Not like this. Anything but this. Esther takes another step forward, lifting her sister's shirt to reveal her scarred torso. The knife pressed to her jagged skin.

"Wait!" A voice called out from one of the huts. Father John. The older man stepped out, a frown on his lips. "Sweet Sister Esther. While the Prophet appreciates your gumption, this is no way to treat our family." Ruth released a breath of relief. A prayer answered. Whether the answer is a response she likes or not. An answer all the same. "Especially Sister Ruth. Our bravest warrior. Our finest specimen." Her jaw clenched as he neared them. His hand reached up, running his fingers along her cheek, along the jagged scar that stemmed from the corner of her lip to the middle of her cheek. "Let me speak to her. I'm sure we can think of some way to calm this storm."

The rope is lifted from around her neck. Her hand shoots up, rubbing the indentation around it. Father John's hand clasped around hers, pulling her towards the hut he'd emerged from. A pit formed in her stomach as she neared the hut. Glancing back, her eyes meet Esther's - desperation in hers, hatred in Esther's. The two disappear into the hut, silence filling her ears with ringing. There's a small fire going in the middle, keeping the hut warm. His hand juts out, motioning for her to sit on the makeshift cot. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took a seat, her eyes watching him take a seat next to her. "Sister Ruth," he spoke softly, "I understand your... hesitance to our ways. I understand that you don't always agree with the direction we seem to be heading towards." His hand gently grabbed hers, holding her so delicately. Her jaw clenched as he continued. "I think, with time, you'll see that what we're doing is noble. What we're doing is righteous." Her free hand slowly moved to her waistband, pulling out the small switchblade tucked in, hidden from the guards that had confiscated her weapons. "What we're doing is right. This new world is full of sin. And you don't want to be a sinner or, worse, a demon-"

His words were cut short as she plunged her switchblade into his neck. The hand that clung to hers tightened, his nails digging into her skin. Blood poured from his wound, drenching her hand and wrist. His eyes formed a glare as his free hand reached up to grasp her wrist. But she was stronger, and he was dying. Pressing the blade deeper into his neck, she watched the life drain from his eyes. His body collapsed to the ground, her blade still stuck in his neck, blood still pouring out from the wound. Her eyes widened as a wave of dread washed over her. They were all outside, waiting on both of them to emerge. But he was now a twitching mass on the ground. And her arm was covered in his blood, her knife still jutting out.

The flap of the hut flings open.

She wakes with a gasp. A hand is clasped around her shoulder, shaking her awake. Thunder crashes in the sky above. Ezekiel stares at her with wide eyes, yelling something at her that she can't quite hear. The crack of a rifle brings her back to the world she's in, pulls her away from the memory she relived every night. Over Ezekiel's shoulder, she can see Tommy at the window, his rifle pointed out the window of the cabin. "They found us!" Ezekiel's shouts again - this time she hears it. Another crack from Tommy's rifle. They found them. It was inevitable. She should've known the storm wouldn't slow them down. They practically breathed rain.

Reaching over, she grabbed her axe from the floor and pushed herself up. Running up to the window opposite of Tommy, she looks out over the dark, rainy expanse. How he can see well enough to shoot, she's not sure. Because she can't see ten feet in front of her. Anything past the front porch is blanketed in darkness. Her grip on her axe loosens, the palms of her hands sweating. A flash of lightning illuminates the field in front of them for a moment. There's no one there. Her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes narrowed in a vain attempt to search for the assailants. "Do you see any more?" She asked Tommy. He responded negatively, that he couldn't see any of them. He'd already taken out two. Jesus, she wanted to mutter, how many were in this group? She should be flattered - that she portrayed such a threat to them that they were sending out groups now.

There was a crash from the back of the cabin. Shattered glass covered the carpeted floor. Ezekiel is quick to move behind the corner of the wall. Ruth is pulled back by Tommy, moved out of their line of sight. His hand presses against her stomach, keeping her behind him. The rifle is aimed towards the hallway entrance. A quiet whistle echoed through the back of the cabin. 'I don't have eyes on them,' it means. Good. One crept his way down the hall, glancing in at the open bedroom doors. Ezekiel's grip tightened on the metal pipe, taking a shaky breath. The moment the man stepped into view, his pipe slammed into his head. He collapsed to the ground as Ezekiel quickly stepped back against the wall, out of sight of the other member; this one a woman. She thinks about letting out a shrill whistle, but is she the last one?

Taking a step away from Tommy, Ruth turns the axe in her hands. She lets out a quick whistle, a check in. 'Are you there?' A beat of silence. A response whistle. 'I'm here.' She responds with another whistle. 'No eyes on the target.' She slowly nears Ezekiel's side, placing her hand on his shoulder to quietly move him back. Taking his spot, her eyes lock onto the hallway entrance. The woman is quick to move out of the hallway, her bow and arrow lowered. Ruth slams the blunt end of the axe into the woman's ribs, sending her to the floor, coughing and groaning. "Grab her." Ezekiel is quick to pounce on the woman, grab her wrists and begin to drag her down the hall. She's in too much pain to protest, to fight. The body on the floor twitches, the man still clinging to life. With a frown, she raised her axe, bringing the blade down to cut into his neck and ceasing his twitching.

"What the fuck was that?!" Tommy shouted from behind her. The thunder has retreated, returned back to a low grumble followed by a flash of lightning. He holds his rifle, still aimed and ready. Ready in case he needs to put these two down. Ready to defend himself. "Who the fuck were those people?!"

"Don't worry about it." She grumbled, ripping her axe out of the man's neck. Turning to look at him, she almost looks daunting. Blood drips from the edge of her axe blade, a wild look in her eyes. If he didn't know any better, he might think her a hunter or a raider. Whatever people were calling them nowadays. It made him uncomfortable. Changed her.

"No, fuck that!" He shouted at her. "I almost died fighting these guys and you're not gonna sit there and tell me not to worry about it."

Her jaw clenched as she stared at him. After a tense moment between the two, she sighed. "It's our old group. They're not very happy with us leaving."

"What, are you two serial killers 'r somethin'?"

She scoffed, chuckling quietly. "If we were serial killers, you'd be dead already."

"Then why the hell are y'all bein' hunted down?"

"Look," she hissed, her feet carrying her towards him, "you want to leave, feel free. Clearly you're doing just fine on your own." The two stared each other down, glaring harshly. After another moment, she rolled her eyes and turned away, making her way towards the hallway. Stepping over the fresh corpse, she made her way down the hall and into one of the bedrooms. Ezekiel had set the woman on the empty bed, using the ragged and torn sheets to tie her hands and legs to the bedposts. "Think the new guy's gonna leave. He's pissed I won't tell him who they are." Ezekiel glanced back at her, slowly nodding. A small frown played on his lips. "What?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he leaned back, straightening up to look at Ruth. "I just think that maybe we'll be better off together. Safety in numbers, right?"

Setting the axe down against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. "Do you wanna be the one to tell him who these guys are? That we've killed countless people in the name of a cause we don't even believe in? Or maybe you wanna tell him about those kids we strung up because they wouldn't join?" There's remorse behind her glare. A deep regret that ran within her. And judging by Ezekiel's silence, she knows it runs through him just the same. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Just let the asshole leave. He'll be dead in a week, anyway. He's not our problem, Zeke."

He remained silent, his frown still prominent. Slowly nodding, he turned his attention back to the woman tied to the bed. She's still groaning in pain. By her wheezing, he thinks one of her ribs is broken. Wouldn't surprise him - she was a force to be reckoned with. He'd seen her take out groups in minutes. Him and her, the Seraphites' greatest weapons and biggest enemies. If they didn't take the two out, then he's sure they're worried the two will take them all out. But all he wants to do is move on, forget about it all. He'll die a happy man if he never has to see another Seraphite again. And, as much as he loves her, he counts Ruth on that list. She's a reminder of his past. A reminder he wants to leave behind.

Grabbing her axe, she left the room, returned to the kitchen. In the living room, Tommy remained in front of the window, staring out at the field in front of them. Slamming the axe onto the broken kitchen counter, he flinched, eyes dragging to look up at her. "You staying or going?" She asked, a bite in her tone. "'Cause if you're staying, we have some work to do. Work that you might not be able to swallow-"

"You think I don't know how the world works?" He snapped at her, glaring her down. But she was unshaken, unshakable. It was almost foreboding, her presence. "Forgive me for wanting to know a little more about the two assholes that I just saved."

"Guess we're even then, stretch." Her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned her back against the counter. "Don't have to stick around anymore since we're so evil." Pushing herself away from the counter, she entered deeper into the kitchen, ripping open the drawers. Her eyes searched the drawers, tossing out spoons and butter knives and measuring cups. Opening another drawer, she almost smiled at the cleaver that had been left behind. How it hadn't been looted, she's not sure. And she finds she doesn't care. Grabbing it by the handle, she slams the drawer shut and spins around. Tommy remained in his spot, watching her with hesitant and cautious eyes. "Listen," she started, "sometimes you get in with bad people and don't realize until it's too late. That clear it up at all for you?"

A moment of tense silence filled the space between them. He slowly nodded, the frown still etched into his face. "A little." He mumbled, his eyes on the cleaver in her hand. He wasn't ignorant, he knew what they were planning to do. Time and time again, he'd seen Joel and Tess do it. He'd sit in the other room, listening as the person screamed in pain. To paint himself a saint would be a lie, though. He was no stranger to making people talk. Knew what teeth to pull that hurt the worst. Knew what speed to pull the fingernails out that would make anyone squeamish. That skill had been utilized by Marlene. He likes to think it's why he finally left. Why he decided to brave it out on his own. Clearly someone up there was looking out after him to keep him alive this long, to send these two in to save him in the one moment he wasn't sure he'd make it out of.

She turned back down the hall, returning to the bedroom and closing the door. "He's staying." She told Ezekiel. The man smiled to himself as he took a step back from the tied-up woman. "Found this in the kitchen. Other than that, place looks wiped clean." Her hand held the cleaver out for him to get a good look at. Rust had started to form on the edges of the blade. And he knew she had chosen it for just that reason. He watched as she turned towards the woman, leaning over her like some grim reaper. "Hi Moira." She greeted the woman with a glare. "It's good to see you again. I think the last time we saw each other was you and I stringing up those liberation members. You remember that? You should. You'd praised the Prophet that she'd sent us sinners to cleanse from the world before you gutted them." Ezekiel winced as he stepped back from the bed. He'd only heard stories of Moira, had never really interacted with the woman. But everyone had said she was passionate about the cause - maybe even more passionate than any of the preachers, any of the prophets or messengers. "This must be a different angle than you're used to. I know how much you liked to make it last for them. But don't you worry. I'll make you proud."

Taking the rusted cleaver, she dragged the blade along the exposed skin of Moira's stomach. The woman cried out in pain as blood began to spread around the gash. "Who told you to come after us? Who gave you the order?" Ruth asked as she pressed the blade against Moira's cheek. The woman finally opened her eyes, glaring hatefully at them. A small smirk grew on Ruth's lips. "I can do this all day." The blade dragged against her cheeks, cutting through the old scar that connected all of them.

Leaning back, she set the cleaver on the nightstand and held her hand out to Ezekiel. "Give me that pipe." He set the metal pipe in her hand, wide eyes watching the woman work. "I might be nice and let you live through this. Though you might be begging me to kill you before we're done." She held the pipe in her hands, moving back to press it against Moira's tied up leg. "Hope you won't need this." Without any hesitation, she slammed the pipe into her leg. A sickening crunch erupted from the bent appendage. Moira screamed out in pain as Ruth sent another blow to the broken leg. The skin ripped by the knee, a bit of bone exposed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see someone step into the doorway, watching them. Tommy frowned as he looked over the beaten woman tied to the bed. For a fleeting moment, he almost thought Joel was the one holding the pipe, glaring down at him. "Christ," he muttered under his breath.

Moira turned her head to look at him, tears streaming down her face. "You can... do the right thing." She grunted in pain. "Please... kill them..."

Both her and Ezekiel looked over to Tommy, waiting for his next move. His eyes took in their scars, they made the two more intimidating. A permanent smile etched onto their skin. Moving his eyes back to the tied-up woman, he could see the same scars on her face. Hers looked fresher, jagged and red. A scar on top of a scar. Ezekiel took a step forward, his hand grabbing Ruth's arm to move her back away from the man in the doorway. 'Sometimes you get in with bad people and don't realize until it's too late.' Her words repeated in his mind as he looked back towards the two standing at the foot of the bed. Boy, did he know all about that. "Molars are the most painful to remove. Doesn't affect their speech either." He told them as he pulled a pair of pliers from his pocket, tossing them to Ruth. He turned and left the room to go back to the living room, watching out the front window for any more.