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Servant of Evil

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"How long will you be gone?" You ask him while you pack his trunk. Thomas sits on the chair in his bedroom. Such sad eyes gaze at you that you had to keep your back to him.

"I don't know. Hopefully not for too long. All depends if I find anyone to fund my machine." Evident pining for you in the tremor of his voice. It had been months since you discovered the vile secret of his, months since he last touched you. You would be lying if you said your body didn't ache for him. But you couldn't allow yourself to lay with him as you once did.

You fold another pair of his trousers and expertly pack them with the others as your hand goes to grab another. However, Thomas' own hand stops your's and holds it. Pausing you contain your breath and close your eyes, waiting for the moment when he releases you. Instead his thumb lovingly rubs against the inside of your wrist.

"(y/n). . .' He keeps himself at a whisper. "Will you not look at me ever again?"

Lips press together in a hard line you consent and heave a forlorn sigh. Body betraying you as it relaxes a this touch. "You need to understand Thomas, what you've done. . . What you probably continue to do, broke my heart."

"I know! And I'm sorry!" Thomas is quick to spill out as he tries to pull you closer. "I never meant to hurt you (y/n). I love you."

"And you love Lucille the same way. She's your blood sister." Rooted where you are you finally cast your (e/c) eyes upon the broken man that you still loved dearly.

"Yes. . . I know what we've done is wrong. I've known it from a very young age. But Lucille had been all I had ever known. Our parents locked us up in that attic and when we dared stray they beat us brutally. Lucille killed our parents for my sake." Breathing heavy he's holding on to your arm like a life preserver. Begging you not to leave him again. "I'd never known a gentle hand beside Lucille's."

"You're an adult now Thomas. Yes what the two of you have been through is incredibly traumatic, but you must move on in order to make your life better. Her love for you is an illness. You said you know it isn't right, why must you continue to do it then? You had me. . . Does she have that much of a hold over you?"

"It would break her (y/n). Drive her further into her madness. And if she found out about you she'd kill you."

A soft, bitter, laugh passes through you. "I feel like that will be my end regardless."