“You’re sick.”

In response, the blade he holds tightly in his grasp is raised up to his lips. The thickening blood upon the blade glimmers morbidly like a beacon of death and pain. I see his snakelike tongue slither from between his fat lips and touch the blade. The bile bubbles sickly in my throat. Smacking his lips together, he stares into my eyes, revealing himself fully to me and knowing that there is nothing I can do to save myself from him. He doesn’t care now that I know who he is. What he is.

“What do you want, my love?” he asks, sheathing the bloody blade. His eyes do not leave mine, and I can see that same glimmer upon his lips that not a moment ago ran through my brother’s veins. He smiles coldly. “Am I not what you expected?”

My body quivers in revulsion. The whisper is torn from my lips of their own accord: “I hate you.”

His mouth splits into an insane grin. “I’m a monster,” he says. “And nothing more.”