{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

Sometimes it's easier to watch the wind and twist of Hadama's magic than the man's calm, understanding face. Jude's eyes flicker between the two when he can't stand to continue watching one or the other.

It's an argument that's easier to speak than to put into action, and Jude sinks deeper into his arms in a petulant sort of defensiveness. "Being perfect is what people expect. Anything I do is a reflection on my dad." Jude extends one leg and nudges his shoe against the end of one of the icy bridges Hadama has created. "And not just my dad but my mom too, and what that means as a demigoddess of Frey." Luckily the awareness of his connection to Phoebe has dwindled over the years since she moved to the Greatwood, but it hasn't vanished entirely.

"There is no being 'just Jude'." And the poison returns to his tone as he spits it, hateful and bitter, only to pause and look out over the tumultuous waves. "But maybe now there is. Starting with this." Toppling the tower of perfection in a cyclone of bad decisions. And maybe, says the tiny child in his chest, it will make his father take notice and come home.

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