This was supposed to be a lovely night. From what Sitwell heard, the ceremony had been beautiful and everything had gone perfectly and everybody was in a good mood by the time he joined the reception. Of course, everybody was happy to see a cake. As he arrived, though, and frowned up at the hotel, he started to doubt his meager contribution and just invitation to this event. Nobody said there was going to be a rooftop garden and crystals and a certain standard of wedding that Sitwell hadn't ever been to. Close family on the farm, that was what he knew. Maybe he hadn't spent enough time socializing since he got to New York.
Hopefully, though, this experience was entirely atypical. Sitwell could deal with a little more glitz in a New York wedding, but he wasn't in any way prepared for a spray of blood to soak the three, pristine white tiers of his patiently symmetrical cake. No one should have been forced to tolerate that, especially not on their wedding day with all of their loved ones full of red, hot, thick blood to gush everywhere.
The shock of it made Sitwell freeze, and his mind was still immobilized as a splatter made his body move, turning sharply to face the nearest open wound with pinpoint pupils in wide, red eyes. There had been tests, and Sitwell had conducted more still on his own time, but there wasn't a lab in the country prepared to find out just what he would do when faced with this kind of carnage. Tragedies had to happen naturally.