drabbles more often than not

this is spaget's writing space

[pot-o-noodles]

The End (Is Near)...

No one's destroyed the heart.

obviously, but since it's, you know, a heart, it makes sense that the person who was carrying it would die; has happened even, to the sorry souls who carried it before their younger charges. especially makes sense with how his body changed in the ritual like those before him.

But then, something happened after the heart was destroyed. It's like the shroud of the nightmare hearts influence started to lift. And grotesquely, bizarrely, miraculously, Grimmothy's corpse starts,,, changing.

A lot of people start to feel sick, the sound of flesh reconnecting and regrowing and bones going back into place should not be something that's able to be heard, and yet, it was happening right before their eyes. For others its was impossible to look away, like seeing a train crash in reverse, and with the impossible noise to accompany it. His body starts reshaping until everyone notices the nightmare heart. It had still been faintly glowing, and possibly vibrating. Until it loses all color, and solidifies into stone. (Just a useless rock.)

All at once his body looks disturbingly normal. Disturbing and distrustful and sad, because it's almost like a respectful loss, winning fair and square, they get Grimmothy as he was remembered. This body to bury instead of some barely recognizable vessel.

The last grimmchild to ever be, aproaches and kneels down by her father's body. Maybe it isn't respectful, making the aftermath look peaceful, after the destruction and pain that it reaped. But then-...

No.

No.

That shouldn't be allowed.

Because the mind is a fragile thing, and it doesn't take much for it to commit the heinous act of hoping.

In this case.

In this case it's the (must-be-imagined) faint-, so faint it must've been someone else near by.

...the oh so faint sigh that's heard from his nose.

[pot-o-noodles]

Strange Places 1

With a bone deep groan, Grimmothy stirred. He ached all over, not unlike how he felt after 24hr back to back performances, fairly empty stomach and all. Except, Except it didn't feel like that. it didn't feel like that at all. The more he woke the more he understood his agony. His whole rightside hurt, like it was one big bruise all along his body missing only his feet. And maybe his finger tips but they felt raw, as if he'd been grabbing at a flat stony ground. He stirred some more and that's when the pain flared like a warning signal. Some of his ribs are likely broken, but he can barely process the thought because his head feels like it's splitting open. Gradually, slowly, carefully he lifts his left hand to the right side of his head. His hair feels gritty, and almost sticky, he returns his hand and dares to peer at it, squinting in the early morning light. It's marked with tacky blood.

...

Brumm would've taken care of the wounds

Filled with dread, Grimmothy is suddenly a ball of nerves on top of the pain. He looks around, carefully, and he notices he's in between some brick buildings and currently laying next to a very large metal container that's obviously used to throw trash into. Looking back at himself he takes stock, on his right arm is a long string of bruises, like someone hit him hard several times there, on his right side, except that can't be right. but nothing seems to be broken. thank goodness for small mercies.

Which then brings him to his ribs, he's certain 3 are broken, which means they need medical attention sooner rather than later. But OW does he hurt. It'll be ok, hell be alright, just one step at a time.

Just one step at a time Grimmothy

Miraculously, he makes it out of the closed in space without passing out. It still seems to be early, but where he's found himself... Honestly he can't quite comprehend it. There's,,, houses. Weird houses. Sure, he's lived in tents of various sizes most of his life but he's never seen houses like these. And there's weird things that look vaguely like train cars with bulky wheels, and they don't need a track. There's a flat, permanent path he assumes are ment for the car things.

Looking back at the space between the two brick buildings, he's tempted to just go lie back down over there and call it quits. But he doesn't know where he is and staying in one spot can be just as dangerous as leaving. He doesn't know where he is, where the troup is, or where brumm or his daughter are. There doesn't appear to be any signs of how he got here from where he woke up, aside from the small drying puddle of blood from where he'd hit his head. And trying to think about what he lasts remembers doing makes his headache way worse so he's not doing that for now.

Grimmothy picks a direction.

And walks.