[center] [img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/345318975846219779/394251903728615424/Faith.gif[/img] ~ [i]Carnal Fear[/i] ~[/center] More murders. Murder after murder. Faith might have started to lose track, at this rate. But the Tome wouldn't forget. Since the start of the Killing Games she had been keeping a special page for their names - the names of the tormented and deceased. Amidst the noise of the other pages, this was immaculate. Neat handwriting, no doodles, and no scribbles. No mess. Something about her couldn't bring herself to defile that page as she had done the others. Though maybe with their names the page had already been defiled. It was a solemn reminder, and the blasted words at the top stuck with her every time she opened it. Deceased Infinites. Felix and Mercy were just two more added to the ever growing list. The Infinite Free runner and the Infinite Plague Doctor... just above them were the Infinite Firebug and Infinite Dice Master. She had never met Rika, but Allie was her friend. Her friend... She traced the names with her index finger, running across each letter, burdened with the visceral memory that accompanied them. The deaths of her fellows in her original game, the deaths of her fellows in this game. For somebody called Faith, she was starting to lose hope of escaping. Starting to. She'd had trouble sleeping - periodic and sporadic episodes of insomnia keeping her up for the morning announcements and beyond, until the next night rolled around and she gambled as to whether sleep would claim her once again. It would just never leave her head... clutching a bleeding body on a tiled floor, feeling their life ebb away in her arms. How many times would she have to experience that before it became common practice? As distressing as the thought might have been, even [i]that[/i] had been the common practice she so longed to avoid. Get out of bed, or stand up from the desk; shower; sit down again and read through your notebook; leave and smile. It was getting tiring, but whether that was the insomnia talking or some internal defence mechanism screaming for release she couldn't tell. Things were getting more and more out of hand by the day. Infinites being murdered, or killing themselves. Even the party was ruined. How many would be able to keep on like this? From what Faith had heard, that was their third Trial. She could remember how she was after her games third Trial. It hurt to think that things would keep going, that things might never change. People would keep dying, and nobody could stop it. And then, at the whim of the game, she was whisked away to another, robbing her friends of their leader. There was sadness there, but a small amount of happiness. Happiness she was now ashamed to admit was happiness The PR system lit up, with the voice of the dreaded. Her dreaded. Her shame. Seeing Jezebel as she exited that elevator gave her a semblance of excitement unmatched since the game started; even the party hadn't elicited that much of a reaction. She had left just after the first Trial. To see her again was a great joy. How she regretted that emotion. The cruelty and coldness in her voice that night... Faith almost couldn't bring herself to attend the Meeting. Almost. But here she stood, at the entrance of the Study, peeking in to catch a glimpse of those already gathered. She was late, and things were about to commence, but a kind of fear paralysed her at the door-frame. seeing Jez there was more than she could bring herself to handle. Aleecia's death had rocked her, but the Trickster before her had only served to amplify that feeling. Carnage Sisters were one thing. They could only kill you. Deep down she knew Jez would never lower herself to murder. Just emotional torture. And for the first time in a while, she was scared. It was a genuine fear. Nowhere along the lines of physical harm, but psychological. This was a girl that, somehow, could hurt her in ways to make a stab wound feel like a feather duster. That was the kind of fear she'd developed of this girl - a fear she had never felt, and might never feel again. The Killing Game was a primal sport, and the primal feelings elicited had begun to close in on her. But she couldn't linger. People would question her, tell her to sit down or leave. In her head, Faith could imagine Jez doing that. But she couldn't leave. This would be important, without a doubt, and she had to be in attendance. Thomas was already speaking, addressing the group. It was now or never, but now was the only option available in good conscience. So she stepped towards the group, and took a seat - as far away from her tormentor as possible - and listened.