Curse: A solemn declaration intended to invoke supernatural power to inflict harm or punishment on someone or something, often used to express anger or annoyance. He wakes me up in the middle of the night – for a second I wonder how he found out where I'm sleeping, but then I remember the party the night before and how we'd both collapsed on the floor, exhausted – her hair is everywhere and her voice has something I've never heard in it before. Not that I've shared enough time to know the difference in tone when he talks about his family, or what it sounds like when he's upset. All I know of Four is stubbornness and happiness (and that was only because of the drinks). “I was called. » For a moment, I think my heart has stopped completely, opening and breaking for a second of painful tearing in my chest. It shouldn't be like this, Four is strong, Four is an ace with a gun, Four is better than anyone I know, Four can take care of himself and yet the painful agony he gets going to kill an influential leader (because he was called for, not requested) is overwhelming. I shouldn't be so worried, but I am – I don't know what's worse. Four's face is half-covered in shadows, casting a long darkness across his bones and lighting up his eyes. It’s hauntingly beautiful in the distant, withdrawn way of a photograph you acquire or a half-stained memory of happier times. But he's not that, he's all edges, muscles and definition. Four, if it couldn't be anything else, could never be blurred. "Who?" I ask because that's all I can ask for, comfort doesn't come in the form of contact but rather in the presence of those we need. He waits for a rhythm, an infinite moment filled with countless answers and possibilities, and... ... middle of paper ...... which did not return, a week later, when small groups of the As they walk through the steel doors with varying degrees of distress, I'm caught between vicious anger and welcome relief. I know now, I have a purpose – I was right. I take my knives, sharpened for this purpose, and steal some of the provisions in the kitchen. Not too much, but not as little as that. I'm going to starve. I take one last look at the building as you exit. And I curse him and scream at him in my head because he hasn't done anything for me, nothing. I turn around, holding one of my blades securely in my palm. I leave, my vision tinged red, and I promise I'll come back with blood on my hands. I'm sorry for the wait, for its crapness, and for its worrying nature. There's one chapter left though, but I'm not making any promises because I'm going to break them. Thanks for everything. Snow.