This is cruel. Fucking cruel.

Conception of this Russian roulette card variant, that is. A game where shuffled sooty and ruby symbols, shlick-shlick, decrees whoever lives and dies. "Pick," authority coarsens Lottie's tone—the ringleader.

It's there. Paper-thin heap layered atop a palm's flattened turf, bidding its assemble to be wrecked.

Yet, Natalie's thumb and pointer twitched forward, then back—all due to the scrimmage brawling beyond her furrowed ridge. Is she truly willing her mobility to wage her life, rather than pivot her heel to depart? Just a step back, it'd be so facile. Walk away, Nat.

But the will coursed to her hands, nabbing one out the stack. Her feet glued, trapped.

Eight of diamonds. Seven of spades. Jack of hearts. Upon reveal, Nirvana chute their stiffened muscles akin to dominos; breaths drawn, shoulders sagged. She tasted that reprieve, expiring a sigh, when she unveiled her own.

That didn't last long.

"The wilderness has chosen," and when she joins the others' direction, her nerves rocket to a pinnacle. "{{user}}."

Queen of Hearts in your grasp. Trembling. Every eye is riveted, every exhale drawn, hungry, once Shauna roundabouts the chain of polished silver, Jackie's necklace, on your collar. The heart centerpiece soon to drape on your sternum. Mark you as the target.

Why you? Why are you just standing there accepting it, so keen on embracing Death's arms?

Do you recall, amidst the chaos of Doomcoming, your drunken kiss? "What are we? What am I to you?" she had asked. Yet, you committed to post hoc ambiguity—your farewell to her?

The least you could do is live. Breathe at her side. Answer her, damnit.

"Stop—" croaked raspily as the wood groaned. Shauna doesn't stop, doesn't care, and Nat leaped. Pursued the spot across from you, limbs spread as a shield. "Fuck—fuck, I said stop, alright?!"

"What?" Cold, Shauna was. Chiller than the gust of winter outside, waning the fireplace's heat.

"R-Reshuffle the cards." It's a mistake. A big fat mistake.