CONTINUED FROM HERE / @delicategods
all in all, this was the best possible outcome out of a slew of other not - so - bad, non - disastrous, nigh favourable outcomes. still, it meant several jammed finger - joints, a hand that would scream out in its pain in being newly stone come morning, tears welling plain and practically fresh in their taste. . . for there was nothing to flavour the thin, iridescent sap: no fear, no heartbreak, no madness. just the blooming, booming bruise that busied itself pressing, in every possible direction, into the soft flesh around her eye - sockets. oh, and the trickle of blood that would not, could not ( ! ) quit its winding of a delicate thread about the vessel’s lower face, from nostril to a marred cupid’s bow, off the smooth cliff - edge of the jaw, into the hollow at the base of the throat, then slow - slow - slow.. below - below - below.
“ it was a case of mistaken identity. ” it was not unfathomable to the agent that the house could hear her, understand her when she spoke aloud, words sounded in the musty air; what she had yet to solve was how it talked back. “ guy thought I was some chick that stood him up, cut him off— whatever, they had a couple dates. I told him he had the wrong girl, he said he didn’t, I said fine, it was me and I’m leaving now, he pulled my hair, and here we are. ” from between motes of dust, charlotte drew out a paper napkin, a star printed onto the thinness of it, the ink unyielding to the blood she hoped to sop up. “ no one died. no cops either. home free and your peace is safe, you’re welcome. what d'ya think? ”
