Henry Glenisle
New Member
Henry Glenisle sank himself into his work. He hunted, stalked and executed his targets with a single mindedness that left no room for anything else in his life. He worked as if each fallen body, each drop of spilt blood, sealed him deeper into this reality.
He could still feel himself slipping away.
His dreams...He had dreams where he wasn’t supposed to. His dreams were meant to be protected, warded against influences both within and without. But he had them and they left him crying hoarsely into the night.
If blood could cement his existence in this reality, then he could not spill enough.
The cats watched him carefully when he was home. He had a sitter come in when he was not around. He rarely was. They purred cautiously around him, and Isis continued with her offerings of stolen baubles. But their bright eyes watched him like a stranger.
A stranger in his own places. Nothing felt familiar. His clothes were ill fitting and his guns alien.
He found his hands itching for a cello instead.
*
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
That was what he wanted to say.
To someone. Anyone.
He tried to, to the cats at least.
The words couldn’t be forced out of his mouth. He clenched his fists to white knuckles, gritted his jaw shut. The world cannot know his secrets and confusion.
They licked his tears regardless, rough tongues rasping at his skin.
*
His dreams unravelled his memories. He was powerless as the tapestry of his life came apart. Thread by thread, his life was rewoven, cut out, made anew.
Who was he? Who is he now? Who will he become?
He watched, silently screaming, as his own genetic code was rewritten.
He watched, helpless and hapless, as all he knew was willfully destroyed. This was order taking charge of chaos. Rewriting him, forcing him into the gap made by the original Henry Glenisle’s death.
He saw as the possibilities were laid out before him then dashed away. Alice and Ian Rothcraft. Alice and Christian. Alice and Kieran. Alice and a stranger. Alice by herself.
None of these possibilities were acceptable to the universe.
He was, after all, Henry Glenisle.
He should have Henry Glenisle’s parents.
“No. No. I refuse this.”
A whisper in the void.
“I am…” He choked on the name that sprang to his lips, then strangled on the next name before trying again.
“I am no longer Ian, but I refuse to be Henry. You will not do this to me!”
He awoke, bleeding from his own scratches.
*
He glared at his reflection. His eyes were no longer hazel, but were green, like Alice’s. When the forces of order were done with him, they will be blue, like Henry’s sister’s. When the forces of order were done, he’d have laid down his guns to pick up a cello.
He let his rage rise.
“You will not do this to me. I will murder the world to spite you.
“I will spill so much blood…”
Blood. Blood was energy. Blood was power. Blood magic was not his skillset but chaos thrummed through him.
He curled a lip as he traced a chaos sigil with a bloody thumb over his chest. The storm within him eased, and he laughed.
“If it’s blood you want, it is blood that you will have.”
He turned first to the cats.
He could still feel himself slipping away.
His dreams...He had dreams where he wasn’t supposed to. His dreams were meant to be protected, warded against influences both within and without. But he had them and they left him crying hoarsely into the night.
If blood could cement his existence in this reality, then he could not spill enough.
The cats watched him carefully when he was home. He had a sitter come in when he was not around. He rarely was. They purred cautiously around him, and Isis continued with her offerings of stolen baubles. But their bright eyes watched him like a stranger.
A stranger in his own places. Nothing felt familiar. His clothes were ill fitting and his guns alien.
He found his hands itching for a cello instead.
*
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
That was what he wanted to say.
To someone. Anyone.
He tried to, to the cats at least.
The words couldn’t be forced out of his mouth. He clenched his fists to white knuckles, gritted his jaw shut. The world cannot know his secrets and confusion.
They licked his tears regardless, rough tongues rasping at his skin.
*
His dreams unravelled his memories. He was powerless as the tapestry of his life came apart. Thread by thread, his life was rewoven, cut out, made anew.
Who was he? Who is he now? Who will he become?
He watched, silently screaming, as his own genetic code was rewritten.
He watched, helpless and hapless, as all he knew was willfully destroyed. This was order taking charge of chaos. Rewriting him, forcing him into the gap made by the original Henry Glenisle’s death.
He saw as the possibilities were laid out before him then dashed away. Alice and Ian Rothcraft. Alice and Christian. Alice and Kieran. Alice and a stranger. Alice by herself.
None of these possibilities were acceptable to the universe.
He was, after all, Henry Glenisle.
He should have Henry Glenisle’s parents.
“No. No. I refuse this.”
A whisper in the void.
“I am…” He choked on the name that sprang to his lips, then strangled on the next name before trying again.
“I am no longer Ian, but I refuse to be Henry. You will not do this to me!”
He awoke, bleeding from his own scratches.
*
He glared at his reflection. His eyes were no longer hazel, but were green, like Alice’s. When the forces of order were done with him, they will be blue, like Henry’s sister’s. When the forces of order were done, he’d have laid down his guns to pick up a cello.
He let his rage rise.
“You will not do this to me. I will murder the world to spite you.
“I will spill so much blood…”
Blood. Blood was energy. Blood was power. Blood magic was not his skillset but chaos thrummed through him.
He curled a lip as he traced a chaos sigil with a bloody thumb over his chest. The storm within him eased, and he laughed.
“If it’s blood you want, it is blood that you will have.”
He turned first to the cats.