10-26-2015, 04:53 PM
bent unto sin, and only unto sin; and that continually. My corpse masterpiece knows too well how the herbivore’s stomach turns at the ingestion of too much flesh. After all, she once drank blood until it made her sick, the bile rising in her stomach like a tide but her body unable to sick it back up. She was ill for days. It’s not the same, now; death dulls the senses in more ways than one. Now, she knows the rubbery texture of a heart the same way she knows the curve of a once-queen’s back, she knows these particular sins and none of them make her sick after. Now she wants for so little – she eats, sometimes, but idly. Her mortal hungers have faded, another thing given over to whim, to whatever force of nature has transformed her from a strange girl to a corpse masterpiece, a wax doll, too perfect and too horrible all at once. The shadow speaks her intent and my corpse queen smiles. Her own flesh is cool and rubbery, the blood oozes rather than flows (she knows this, having bitten pieces off her shoulders, leavings wounds that should have scared but ended up somehow seamless). It has none of the reward that live flesh does. The living flesh is sensual, erotic with warmth and wetness, hers is a blow up doll, cool and strange, emptied. “Yes,” she purrs, encouraging, lets the teeth sink in. They feel both like and unlike her own – they are sharper, made for this, the flesh incises much cleaner, none of the raggedness her own blunted teeth cause. Her own flesh is spit at her feet, and she wonders briefly if she should find it insulting, to have her very self rejected. Ah, but there is no time for wallowing in self-pity, not when a shadow stands before her, warm and wet, a smudge of dank blood on her lips. “Chantale,” she says, “I am Chantale.” Her own muzzle skates across the girl. She is liquid in her darkness, and Chantale feels like she will draw away stained. Her own lips draw back, a corpse’s rictus, or perhaps a smile. (It’s always hard to tell, with her.) “You’re darling,” she breathes, biting down, and finds the girl quite warm indeed. how original a sin. |
hahaha they are so WEIRD