Frankly, my dears...

You all disgust me.

One can only wonder, Mr. Fitzgerald, how long a man can sit and flail about like a pig with its throat slit before its spastic thrashing ceases to resemble life and more accurately resemble what it truly is; struggling to hang onto the little vivacity it has still drains rapidly from its veins.

It's taken me a long, long time to hunt you down, darling. To think, I might not have even been able to if it weren't for that pathetic excuse of a defector drawing every servant of our Father in the entire lower region of Vermont to your humble abode.

You put on quite a show with that little piece of arm candy, too - I must admit. But your standards have positively plummeted since I last saw you, nearly three years ago.

Do you remember the night you left me?

Do you remember the burns?

The places where my teeth marred your delicate skin?

Are the scars still there, Teller?

A rhetorical question, of course. We both know they're there, and they're as fresh as the day you abandoned us.


And what life did you pursue instead? Cowering like an old dog behind the shed, desperately clinging to your last shreds of humanity (though we both know very well you were never truly human in the first place. Not your purpose, right~?) as this utter sham of a family tries to turn a blind eye as you slip, again and again, working yourself further and further into the ground?

How many times can you rebuild, Spencer Fitzgerald?

How many times can you rekindle the fire from the ashes? Eventually you'll be so shattered and broken that your little pet of a housewife won't be able to piece you back together, and that's assuming your doctor doesn't dive completely off the deep end first~! What of sir Leon Steele? How do you think he'll react to all of this? Are you desperate for a bullet between the eyes, or is that just an unfortunate side effect of your gift - pardon, your illness? You're a liar and a fake and a failure most of all, Spencer Fitzgerald.

And I can fix you.

And miss Loreli, (almost a missus, and must I say, congratulations! I've never seen somebody wring the life from a person who was once so close to them in such cold blood. Except for when I did it, of course. But you didn't have a choice, did you? You were to be married, after all. And now look where you've both ended up~! Funny how love works, isn't it?) before you go dropping everything to tend to your most beloved leader, I take this time to tell you that Teller is beyond your help at this point. He is a delicate and beautiful flower that is far, far beyond your comprehension - at least, in this state. But if you would like to test the limits of your knowledge, perhaps you should pay closer attention to those animals you keep under the tarps~?

Mr. Fitzgerald is nothing but a figment of Teller's imagination; an illusion of what he wishes he could be, all he could never be. Father's gift to him... he resists it.

I imagine it hurts~!

But, as I said, I do possess the ability to let you all scramble and grasp for a small time longer. I offer... compromise.


I can and will return your glorious leader to his former glory; to how he was before you degenerates seemed hell-bent on ruining him. All I ask in return is a string of largely insignificant and mostly inconsequential assignments to be completed by him, for me. For Father. For his family.


I leave the choice to all of you, disgusting and flawed as you are. Leon, perhaps you will choose inaction, prove that you would be a much better leader. Todd, you have a bone to pick with Mr. Fitzgerald as well, do you not? August, imagine how much better you could care for your sham of a family, and Sam, don't you miss your sister? Amanda, aren't you tired of secrets, and Lori, aren't you tired of keeping them?

Elaine, he could have saved the man you loved more than anything, and he didn't.

I expect my answer soon. I'll know if you accept.

Tick tock, tick tock~!

Best of luck, couriers.
xoxo
Writer