Oamenii nu sunt altceva decât jucării de monştri şi zei

I signed on and saw that NYU:SHS was going to be deleted for inactivity and I just can't let it be deleted. It was too special for me. So I'm making this blah set to submit to it. You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

A while ago I started writing a way into the future story for Hart and Mia which included a special appearance by their precocious only daughter, Sophie Anne. I never finished it because I started a new job and the hours are ridonkulous, but I did have this set sitting in my drafts and felt like publishing it.
In the story, Hart is a few steps away from becoming the best surgeon on the east coast. Amelia is busy running her late mother's law firm which unfortunately means that five year-old Sophie Anne spends most of her time with her nanny, something she begins to show her displeasure for in the story. Imagine a five year old Amelia Stark, now multiply her temper by 10 and you've got a perfect picture of how I've written Sophie Anne. That's not to say she isn't a sweet, precious child... because she is. She does take after her father as well. Suffice it to say that in the story, which is written from Hart's POV, Sophie Anne is the star and she makes sure that everyone knows it... especially her incredibly busy and important parents.

Note: I have zero idea where this little blurb came from. It just danced out of my head and became words. That's the best explanation I can give you. And no, I'm not a Catholic (or a Christian at that), so I'm just as confused as anyone about this creation. Then again, a writer should nurture their plot bunny bites no matter how weird they turn out to be.
 
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. As of late, my mind has crawled and writhed and bled with impure thoughts. I can see flashes of him. I can taste him on my tongue. My body is lusting for him ... every breath feels like flames.
It's been so long since I last confessed, Father. My sins are many and some are great. I can feel the Lord turning away from me ... don't, Father. Don't tell me it is me who is turning away.
I'm not myself. Forgive me. I need penance. Punish me for these thoughts I can't control. Rip him from my head with a hundred, no... a thousand Hail Marys. Exorcise me of my lust. Help me fight these demons.
No. Wait. I don't know what I want. Spin your healing words, Father, for I am lost. I have lost my way. The path I walk now only has one end. Nothing but destruction and heartbreak will lie in my stead if I succeed ... should I say "fail" instead? Oh. My head. It's talking to me again. No, not in tongues. No, not in whispers, Father. It's screaming. Can you hear that? Can you hear that awful screeching? Can you hear the lust in its voice, Father? Help me.
You can't ... you can't hear it? Not at all? But Father. It's screaming for him. "Peter, Peter, Peter" over and over again. I'm going insane, Father, you have to help me.
Yes ... I understand. I will. I want to be punished. Thank you, Father.
But ... you're in my head too. The woman in the white dress is telling me you're in my head too. She lives in the mirror, in a perfect world with him and no one else.
She is in Heaven ... I'm burning in Hell.

Original short by Nell Osoria
 
Synopsis:
Dean Morris was the perfect FBI agent. He could solve a case faster than his superiors and catch the criminals before they could ever suspect they were being investigated... Until he met Sage Feller. The bloodstained carpet in the trunk of his car was proof enough of that.

Something I'm working on for fun.