{se} my lips are full of ruby lies

Jude

I remembered I had fists today
I wash my hands and they are red like the sunsets of paradise

Most Torchers have the decency - or the indecency - to leave someone alone in the depths of their misery. Even a young man like himself. No matter how kind Hadama may be, or how civilized Torchline has been shaped to be, too many years of self-service has taught the citizens to turn a blind eye to the suffering of others.

He's not sure if it's luck or cruelty that ensures the one person in Torchline who would care is the one who stops and listens.

Hadama is a blurry, mirrored figure as Jude looks up, eye swollen nearly shut and blood thick in his nose. He peers from over his elbow like a pathetic imitation of Lucifer, the maelstrom of anger and hurt louder in his head at seeing his father's friend and fellow leader. Or, former fellow leader. He wants to spit and warn him away like a wounded animal protecting itself, but those insufferable manners grip his throat and keep his head bowed where it belongs.

"'s a free country," he mutters, nasally and gutteral. The smallest act of rebellion he's ever seen, and yet it feels momentous on his own tongue. But whatever strength he had vanishes back into the heavy breathing of impending tears, the grief of it all crashing back over him. Hadama lies just within reach, but Jude doesn't feel any less alone. "Don't think I'm due any favoritism now." Because the letter had mentioned another due to be delivered to Hadama's hands, but he has no way of knowing that he'd arrived home too soon for that to have happened.

Am I a murderer?
Or did I just kill all my thoughts in self-defense?