11-13-2021, 10:18 PM
The boy appears as if he has stepped through a rift.
As if he has materialized from thin air, sprung up out of nothing just for her.
And if she were a thing with a memory of the before, she might have recognized the smirk for what it was. A kind of private joke passed between them.
(But there are no memories. Either because the reaper had erased them or because there were never any there to begin with.)
She does not know what this means. But she grins. She grins and she lurches toward him because the reaper had built her for this. To set her loose on the world, to wreak havoc, to disgust them with her wrongness, her ugliness.
She tilts her head as the tears pool in her deep red eyes. All she has to do is blink and they will cut rivers of blood down her cheeks. For the moment, though, she only stares.
“Here?” she echoes, quiet. No, she is not supposed to be here. This much is evident in the lack of heartbeat, the way she is so crudely stitched together, how none of the pieces seem to fit together right.
“Here?” she asks again. “What is here?”
And then she blinks. She blinks and rivers of blood stream down her face, stain her cheeks, drip from her chin.
As if he has materialized from thin air, sprung up out of nothing just for her.
And if she were a thing with a memory of the before, she might have recognized the smirk for what it was. A kind of private joke passed between them.
(But there are no memories. Either because the reaper had erased them or because there were never any there to begin with.)
She does not know what this means. But she grins. She grins and she lurches toward him because the reaper had built her for this. To set her loose on the world, to wreak havoc, to disgust them with her wrongness, her ugliness.
She tilts her head as the tears pool in her deep red eyes. All she has to do is blink and they will cut rivers of blood down her cheeks. For the moment, though, she only stares.
“Here?” she echoes, quiet. No, she is not supposed to be here. This much is evident in the lack of heartbeat, the way she is so crudely stitched together, how none of the pieces seem to fit together right.
“Here?” she asks again. “What is here?”
And then she blinks. She blinks and rivers of blood stream down her face, stain her cheeks, drip from her chin.
@Wylder