my heart was never pure || gryff

Cas dug his dagger into the dummy, feeling the red blood rush out of the gelatine hole. He’d gotten some Hephaestus campers to rig it so if he stabbed it in a fatal place, blood would come out. It didn’t happen without much persuasion and a little bit of compensation, but it wasn’t like Casimir had anything to buy anyways. As a child he had always been poor, and was still poor today even if he did steal some drachmas from the little ones around camp. The camp store was boring and stupid, and Cas dreaded working there on the weekends, even though he knew perfectly well that if he stopped getting in trouble he wouldn’t have to do it anymore, but the boy could not bring himself to become a successful member of society. It was why he was here at noon, with the sun high in the sky, blazing down upon his dark hair and tan skin, riddled with scars and bruises from years ago. It was why he stopped trying to fake feelings he never would feel, like happiness or grief or love. Casimir felt hate, it was his strongest emotion, the one that compelled him to do what he did. This dummy wasn’t just used as target practice to make him a better fighter, it was used as a self therapy session. This dummy was his older brother Michael, and Cas was killing him over and over and over again, as punishment for what his older brother did to him. After a while however, the boy stepped away, breathing heavily with exertion and anger. He walked away from the gushing target and wiped his hands down his face, leaving streaks of bight red scoring downward from the top of his forehead to the tip of his jawline, contrasting magnificently with his bright blue eyes.