her skin had p a r t e d like the petals on blossoming flowers —— such was the damage of her switchblade, the illusion of blade carving against bone e t c h e d steadily into her mind. if her mind wasn’t static with pain, she might’ve been able to ignore it, but every time her kimono sleeve got caught in the gash, the contents of her stomach grew CLOSER and CLOSER to spilling past her lips. before her, however, was a face that she scarcely recognized, if it weren’t for the CHOPPY purple locks of hair that she sported. hiyoko paused, clearing her throat before casting her g a z e upon tsumiki.
❝ listen, i-- i need you to do me a favor. — ❞
@tsumxki








