#got me thinkin bout them repeating the same phrases used by lev

[bad0gs]

⠀#⠀       guilt     rattles     in     their     breath,     whisper     of     lev’s     tenor     serpentines     around     viktor’s     response.     how     grief     can     displace     entire     existences,     (     you     shouldn’t     and     yet     . . .     sat     beside     an     empty     chair,     the     archangels     with     blood     on     their     hands.     what     to     do     with     all     this     blood,     without     their     avowed     god     ?     )     𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃,     𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄     𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑     fractures     by     the     revealed     teeth.     no     amount     of     bitter     amber     can     drown     the     awful     truth     which     tightens     in     the     chest,     dismay     frayed     between     their     eyebrows     and     the     unspoken     reply.     there’s     no     peace     in     the     truth.     “     of     course     not.     ”     remorse     chews     on     helena’s     words,     pry     to     the     surface     a     pale     ghost     of     insomnolent,     southern     nights.     how     fortunate     for     lev     to     find     those     so     prepared,     devout     until     his     very     end     and     more     . . .     how     lucky.     head     swings     back     for     another     gulp,     glass     tight     in     their     tense     grip.     “     but nothin’     been said     out     loud,     and     it’ll     stay     that     way. "     fearful     of     what     might     be     heard.     still,     there’s     a     cruel     turn     of     their     smile,     disguised     by     the     glass     brought     near.     “     a     shame     that     he     won’t     get     that     open     casket     like     he     always     wanted.     let     the     world     get     one     grand,     final     look.     ”                   

            the room collects its congregation, and in the absence of the one who thought himself savior, every movement still remains performative, watched by the omniscient. the eyes of this self proclaimed god are everywhere, in the form of every person. viktor looks to them, to helena, with a wayward glance. the one lev twisted and turned into viktor's own  personal antagonist  for a climb neither could survive the fall from. now all he sees is the same fate they suffer and it manifests in helena's posture, confirmed by what renders him speechless. and instead, he reaches to numb the truth in liquid courage. “ you shouldn't ask that. ” because they know. it's in the way the room feels just then and a certain irony that settles in. three feet above where a man once sat, who could damn or claim your salvation with a mere glance, viktor's attention snags.  the crucifix,  it hangs tilted. unchanged because lev is not there to meticulously palm at it with a parable curated for the individual who stands before the judge, jury and executioner. “ and i don't like my answer. ” he swallows down the honesty. liquid regret burning the back of his throat.  he never has found comfort in the truth. “ you don't like yours either, do you? ”