CW: Graphic depictions of violence, canon typical disturbing imagery, graphic depictions of gore, torture, mdni
Summary: Azalea has fallen prey to Orin's machinations and awaits total loss of who she is, her final thoughts before her mind is entirely wiped clean
Notes: everyone is doomed, also italics are flashbacks
Word Count: 2001
Useless limbs that refused to fall under command, thick ropey straps of undulating flesh held her prey beneath too bright lights that burned her retinas worse than flames.
She fought against her bindings though she could feel the mush of her matter sloshing within her skull, rancid blood oozing from her ears and pouring from her eyes as she raged against her fate.
"Weak! Our father wasted his flesh on your ungrateful shell, you who would abandon our plans for that foolish lordling!" The voice ran out around her, sharp and unforgiving on ringing her ears and fracturing skull. "Would that you could think beyond yourself you would have avoided this!"
"Wretched girl!" She shrieked in reply though the action made every part of her body sing in agony. Gasping from the sublime pain of it all, hacking up chunks of clotted blood and unknown matter. "Traitor!"
"I am NO traitor! You have forsaken me first!"
Orin's blood curdling fury was followed shortly by a blunt object slamming into her flesh. Azalea screamed, rage and pain dueling within her throat as she fought to loosen herself from these binds. Fighting to collect any amount of the magic that resided within her rancid blood to scream to life, to smite the horrid sister that has betrayed her. Father was right, the Urges whispered to slaughter the traitor before it could come to this. Before the sister she nursed and held and sheltered could turn that wretched knife hand on her.
"You have abandoned me! You who swore protection and love proclaimed it all in false names! Your blaspheming tongue that would forsake me and our father! You have abandoned us! And now! Now I will find use for you yet! You will make a darling puppet! To string up and use and play with as you always were meant to be. Fathers favorite bloody little dolly now all mine to use until I tire of your worthless meat! Rest well."
She prayed to her Father to rescue her from this fate, to give her the strength to tear her binding and rip out her lying sister's wicked tongue. Wished that the Urge would do as they have always whispered in her mind, allow her the blood thirst to flay Orin and spin her skin into a new hide armor to adorn her rotten carcass. Willed that Scleritas would cut her form these binds and soothe her heart while she butchered her sister, tell her it was a necessary sacrifice and that her Father would be proud of her. Begged that Enver would break their pact and come for her now, she promised to only be a little mad.
No one came.
No Father came to her aid, no useless butler, no Urges took hold of her body, no Enver.
Only her body and the worm Orin knifed into her skull.
Twisted messy unstable mind matter that purred and screeched and ache and oozed. Infernal wriggling within her brain juices, foul worm making nest in her wretched cracked skull.
She could not move.
Twitch.
Metling.
Disappearing.
Father, please help...
Enver would help.
But no help came did it?
Time made little sense.
Orin came and went.
Frolicked and enjoyed herself.
Making minced meat of her stolen body.
Speaking often about the ruin she reeked upon the plans they had spent so long crafting. Mocked her for whatever words slipped out of her useless lips.
Orin spoke of Enver most often.
With disgust and threats upon his life.
"You let him too close slaughter kin, look what his visage has brought you to."
She trusted Enver too easily, trusted Orin too easily… maybe she wasn’t meant for this life. Like a fool she left her soft innards open to be knifed and gutted.
"My dearest assassin, won't you join me for a nightcap?" He called out to her retreating form, a crooked smile on his crooked face that made her heart pitter patter uselessly behind her ribs. "I promise not to bite if you do the same."
"You like when I bite," she replied after a beat, stopping in her tracks and staring at him blankly. "Orin is waiting for me."
"You're too soft on her." He didn't elaborate further though the distaste in his voice was obvious, it is an argument they have had many times by then. Instead, he crossed the space between them, cupping her face in his warm palms slick with oil and sweat and grinned that crooked disarming grin of his. "Stay the night. You can bite me for my impudence."
The memory slithered away as quickly at it flickered into her mind, melting before her eyes and disintegrating into nothingness.
There is more.
There has to be.
There was more that happened.
Why couldn't she remember?
She tried to shout, to yell and spit curses.
But she remained slack jawed and drooling... sounds dying just on the tip of her tongue.
"You embarrass yourself, slaughter kin," Orin taunted, visage swimming into blurry focus. The sound of metal scraping against metal grating in her ears. "What would Father think?"
“S-s-stop,” she choked out, blood pooling in her mouth as she screamed out the words as best as she could manage. “Stop—”
"Stop? It asks me to stop!?"
Cool metal already slick with blood pressed was pressed against her throat.
"I will not stop."
She screamed.
The effort only made blood bubble out of her throat.
"You will have a purpose, goodbye sister."
Sister she called her?
Sister.
Not slaughter kin.
But sister.
It should make her laugh.
So why did she cry?
Why did it make her ache and twist and sob.
"Orin is mine."
It was a declaration that need not be said, but still, she voiced it aloud. Not a soul so much as glanced at her outburst, they never padi much mind to her the same as they never paid mine to the wailing pale baby. Left alone to rot and suffer, cold and hungry... Wretched horrid people.
When she was in charge, she would slaughter all who neglected them. Use their bones to build a bed for Orin and their skin to make them matching dresses. Let their bodies provide the nourishment they denied them while they were alive.
"Master, you should offer the little wriggling worm to you father—"
A burst of magic surged from her, flames engulfing the screaming butler. Though he laughed in glee at the sensation and enthusiastically proclaimed his pride in her new spell. The too loud butler drew a crowd of prying eyes, cultists gaze flickering observed her and the baby she cradled.
"I said Orin is mine."
Tears burned like acid down her face as Orin dug into her wretched skull. Held her jaw in place with one hand and the curved blade with another. A wave of nausea overtook as she tried to uselessly kick her legs under her. Orin is dedicated in her work, carving up her rotting carcass.
"Sister, you kill beautifully," she praised, a soft smile spreading on her face as she placed a delicate hand on Orin's shoulder to draw her away from the kill. "But... we mustn't tarry so long on our kills. Father does not appreciate your art."
Orin did not speak, only watched her with a blank expression.
"Death is all that matters. Father wants the deaths of all. Nothing more and nothing less," she said after a beat, releasing Orin's shoulder and casting a frown towards the still twitching victim. "I indulge you too much, don't I?"
Everything felt heavy.
Her limbs are like lead.
Her eyes were two rocks nestled into her skull.
Weight dragging her beneath a tide of blood and viscera.
She could live if only she screamed.
She had no voice.
No words.
No magic.
Her legs slipped against her blood, finally giving out beneath her uselessly.
"Orin is mine, I will deal with her as I see fit."
"I wouldn't dream of robbing you of the chance to disciplining your sister," Enver said darkly, one hand splayed on the expanse of her back while the other toyed with some trinket or another. "I only ask that you discipline her for once."
"She doesn't need discipline, she's just... lost," she snapped, wrapping her tail around his leg despite trying her best to look upset with him. With an irritated huff she brushed the hair out of her face and stared down at him. "Know your place Banite. You have no place in commenting on how I raised my Orin."
"Of course, oh mighty Bhaalspawn, I vow to only insert myself where I am wanted," he replied in that tone she could never properly pick apart. Torn between amused and annoyed. "In you would be a nice place, many times in many ways."
She choked on gurgled screams and blood, coughing and retching.
Drowning in blood, bile, and tears.
Every shock pulled her further from death…
Maybe she had died…
A necromancer could be in here.
One of the hands tasked with keeping her alive…
Alive and suffering.
Suffering.
Suffering.
SUFFERING.
There are no words that she could make out, blurry images of a warm bed and girlish giggles. She could fill silk soft hair, fine and well combed beneath her fingers. Weaving the hair into a large braid, pulling one chunk through the other and affixing it with flower gems and little bones.
How long has it been?
She’s lost count.
Could it have been days?
Or was it hours?
Minutes?
There was no sign of day nor dawning.
She couldn’t keep count of the seconds…
Couldn’t remember when seconds became minutes…
Orin hated her.
She hated Orin too.
Hated Orin.
What horrible thing...
To hate the baby, she held and fed and clothes and loved.
"They don't want you... but I do!" She cooed, swaddling the pale baby in the warm blanket she had stolen from dead artist's bed. "I will keep you."
She hated her with every breath she took, hated her with every drop of blood, with every fibrous sinew of her muscles, hated her.
Hated this suspended half-life.
Of this loss and renewal.
Hated her!
HATED HER!
Would that she could, she would die of this poisonous hate that rotted her very being. Her mutilated corpse could be waiting to be devoured by carrion beasts and insects. To be laid to rest in the damp ground of the earth, yearning to eat her flesh and finally… finally fucking die.
Oh, to die instead of think.
Instead of being entirely conscious of this waking hell.
To live through this nightmare endlessly.
This cycle of suffering.
To remember and forget.
All she could do was think.
Think…
Think, simply think through this living hell.
Never to feel, for how could she feel when all the world's pain was becoming numb to her flesh?
She envied the corpses that she had massacred
She envied all the countless faces of the dead.
She envied the friends she had killed.
Hated that death would not come for her.
Death, oh sweet kind beautiful death.
Why couldn’t she die?
She’s tried.
Tried to bash her head against every surface until she bled out…
Death.
Death.
Death please.
Please find her before Orin comes again.
Find her.
Kill her.
Kill her now before she takes her mind.
Before her hands crept into her mind and began to search for an answer there.
Death.
Please.
Save her.
Lest she hate death as much as she hated Orin.
Save her.
Kill her.
Kill her.
Kill her.
Kill her.
Kill her.
And yet she can’t die.
She alone remains.
Rotting.
Lost.
Not even thinking.
Not even a memory.
"Oh, pet don't put up such a fight, you'll hurt yourself," a distant muddled voice cooed over her filthy body. Hands caressing her face with a care that made her stomach churn because no one should touch her... no one? Someone should... right? "Don't worry, I'm going to take good care of you.
I wonder how many people in District 12 who saw Katniss volunteer for the games worried about little Prim turning into another Merrilee Donner, forever haunted by the loss of her sister to the Capitol’s violence.
lowkey wish the doomed siblings' last line to each other was a parallel of s1...something like, "we'll always be sisters. nothing will ever change that." instead of "i'll always be with you".
like, yes, it works, but it just felt like it sprouted out of nowhere....if that makes sense? like, if they had a good build-up to the final scene between them and everything, and jinx's last words to vi were, "remember, we'll always be sisters"...
i dont know i feel like the impact and recall to s1e9 would've been much more profound?
