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Summary
title of this fic is Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain
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Fyodor said, tilting his head to the side. Dazai took the blade from his neck, and brought it near his lower abdomen. With a look of realization Fyodor chuckled lowly, narrowing his eyes.
“Carrying a part of me with you forever won’t save you from damnation.”
Dazai averted his gaze, shrugging he let out a heavy sigh.
“Then I’ll be damned.”
Everything he despised about himself, it was housed in Dostoyevsky. He should be glad with the fact he was finally able to carry out this execution, but he too reflected his intelligence, the only other person to match such wit. They were both lonely because of such characteristics and they found solace in their mutual suffering.
