~
Iida recognizes pain. The telltale signs of life melting away, of hope dissolving, of grief and emptiness that nibbles at sanity day by day. He knows it well, as it sits in the pit of his gut and whispers prayers to whatever god that its holder pays attention and listens for once.
It aches at the quietude left in his empty house. His vessel no longer screams. Its tongue is gone. Cheeks sliced in half. Teeth yanked and threaded into necklaces like fine ivory. The only sounds it can make are ones of labored breathing. When Iida presses the heel of his foot too deeply into its chest, or when he presses his fingers into the two hollow craters between his nose and forehead.
Iida is half convinced that he is inhuman.
The only semblance of emotions left within him are ones of depravity. Lust and possessiveness, a crushing desire to claim and reaffirm. He has no time for unconventional promises, the ambiguity of faith could never satisfy him. He needs physical affirmation. To touch. To mold.
When his tongue licks into the holes devoid of eyes-- or when his fingers slip into its mouth to feel nothing pressing back..
That is euphoria.
It’s the greatest kind he could get.
