@the-dimitrescu-seamstress sent: ❀ Your muse has an unpleasant trip from Donna’s garden.
Hallucineugenics ; Permanent Meme Call // Always Accepting!
It had been, as it ever was, a task bidden by her Lord. Dimitrescu desired a specific tacking thread. A thread that so happened to be in the possession of her recluse sister. Magdalena‘s safety had been assured. Lord Donna Beneviento was quite mad by all accounts but she was not stupid. To attack her sister’s servant would not go down honeylike. And so, Magda’s trek had been a relatively uneventful one. Her eyes having little to settle upon beyond hangmen dolls and drooping branches heavy with snow.
She had passed through the forest and had made her way to the mountainous incline when a shadow, tall and warbled, draped over her form. Magda spun on her heel, jaw falling agape at the sight she saw.
It was Alcina and yet, somehow, against all logic, she was here. Hemmed skirt spattered with dirt and grass stains. In fact, her pearlescent dress seemed entirely putrid. Pearl beading hanged loose like fishing sinkers. Little specks of mold spores and the rippled, yellowed edges of sweat peppered the bodice and ran downwards like water damaged wallpaper. The smell was horrendous. A choking, floral, sticky sensation that clung to the back of the throat like phlegm.
“C-Countess, what are you doing here?”
Alcina sneered terribly, cherry lips pulled back to reveal yellowing teeth. She reached for Magda, clawed, unkind if not downright murderous.
“HOW DARE YOU!” The Lord bellowed, a great gloved fist snatching the woman about the throat and hoisting her into the air.
“You made me a fool in this HIDEOUS garment.”
As if on cue, the seams in her sleeve burst open, slick sweaty flesh beneath bulging.
“If you so much as THINK for a moment that you will not pay with your worthless life, you are STUPIDLY incorrect.”
Magda was hurtled into the dirt with punishing force, air squeezed out her lips in a wordless scream. She had little chance to squirm away as a fist grasped about her ankle and dragged her howling back toward Dimitrescu castle, clawed hands catching at nothing but twigs and rocks.
“Feel every little piece of gravel you disgusting swine. It will be the last joys you have before I FLAY your skin clean from your body. I will make a fine PURSE from your hide, Magdalena.”











