This is a story where you adapt, where you have to improvise as the world itself is hardly familiar to you, though you know you were born here. You have a name, and something dark and unspeakable, deep in your heart. In your blood. Joy and delight sing to you from every kill, every act of cruelty. And your friends see, and do not hear. They do not hear how sleep turns traitor, how dreams are filled with butchery, how you keep waking up.
The inner eye turns to madness. Your head has so much empty space in it, scraps of meat rotting in brine. Fill it with whatever you find, if it drowns out what your heart sings for, begs for, whispers for. Never stop going. Never stop moving. You will live, and you will live, and you will live. You will live, because you were fashioned that way, from flesh death had once already claimed. You will live, because it's not time for you to die yet. This you know.
This is a story where you stand in a river of blood. Where you see your own reflection, and know what manner of accursed thing you are, what taint courses through your veins, and hold it as your shame. Your truth. Monster. You will never get the scent out of your skin. Fashioned to a sickening purpose. Pour all the world's blood into the abyss. You will obey. You have no choice.
And yet you will try. And yet you are trying. The world is still so beautiful. You want to know it again. You want to know it for the first time. Inch by inch, you are climbing up into the Light. Day by day, you climb. There are things to love. ---
The Page halts there, as if there could be more, the story not precisely drawn to an ending.
And Fever still sits, waiting for what comes next. Wondering what now she's brought upon herself.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-10-31 07:37 am (UTC)The inner eye turns to madness. Your head has so much empty space in it, scraps of meat rotting in brine. Fill it with whatever you find, if it drowns out what your heart sings for, begs for, whispers for. Never stop going. Never stop moving. You will live, and you will live, and you will live. You will live, because you were fashioned that way, from flesh death had once already claimed. You will live, because it's not time for you to die yet. This you know.
This is a story where you stand in a river of blood. Where you see your own reflection, and know what manner of accursed thing you are, what taint courses through your veins, and hold it as your shame. Your truth. Monster. You will never get the scent out of your skin. Fashioned to a sickening purpose. Pour all the world's blood into the abyss. You will obey. You have no choice.
And yet you will try. And yet you are trying. The world is still so beautiful. You want to know it again. You want to know it for the first time. Inch by inch, you are climbing up into the Light. Day by day, you climb. There are things to love. ---
The Page halts there, as if there could be more, the story not precisely drawn to an ending.
And Fever still sits, waiting for what comes next. Wondering what now she's brought upon herself.