Grymm Gardens

  Carefully Odrune lowers herself to her knees at the foot of the altar. Closing her eyes, she listens as the blood trickles down her spectral form. The droplets of blood mimicking the familiar sound of water on stone. She recites the mortalitasi chants for the dead, in time with the rhythms around her.

As she calls upon the blessings of the veil, she begins to feel a familiar presence surrounding her. Chills run down her spine as it passes through her, taking her breath with it. Rune gasps for air, opening her eyes to find the source of the presence. Before her stands a demon, one she hadn’t encountered before. 

They towered over her, even as they crouched at the head of the table deeply inhaling the scent of her own deceased corpse. Taloned claws begin the meander over the body, and she takes in the sight of the creature. Disheveled feathers cover the upper half, with raw grey skin exposed further down. She captures the sight of massive wings barely able to fit in the dark chamber they occupy, even tucked away as they are now.

“What the fuck,” she can barely get the words out before she is moving on instinct alone. She grabs the largest blade on the altar, pointing it at the creature.

“Smells like rot,” the demon croons, “and incense.”

“Who-” She can barely speak as the familiar voice shakes her.

“Don’t you recognize me, little Rook?” The creature chuckles darkly before moving toward her, slowly coming around the table.

Her blood runs cold as the pieces fall into place. The wings, the feathers, the emanating violet magic dripping from them.

“Spite?” She asks, her voice just above a whisper.

“Finally you see me.” They say through a pleased smile 

“What are you doing here?”

“You may as well have been begging for me to come, nightmare after nightmare, night after night, no wards to contain it.”

“Why are you here, Spite.” She says their name through gritted teeth.

“I can feel you every night, I can feel it all, the pain, the horror,” Talons echo as they grow closer to her. “The desire.”

“Stop it.” The demon only chuckles at her demand

“We knew something was strange with you.” Spite circles around her, looking down with an expression she can’t discern through their sharp beak. “The veil holds you together, woven into your very blood.” They press a clawed hand into her shoulder, as she shudders. “It keeps you tethered here. Not only to your body, but to this place, this memory.” Suddenly Spite rips the claws down her shoulder, watching intently as the blood runs down her. “Such an intoxicating smell.”

Gasping from the sudden pain she turns to back away. Stumbling into the altar holding her body. 

“Spite, leave” She commands. 

“Why would I?” They ask, clearly amused.

The taunting was enough for Odrune. With a new found determination, She lunges toward the demon trying to land the knife in their abdomen.

Spite only looks more amused as she slips the blade underneath their skin. Her eyes widened at the sight.

“You’ll have to do much better than that.”

Suddenly the demon lifts her effortlessly, their eyes burning into her. Spite throws her away from themself, landing with her back flat on the altar table. Now occupying the space her own deceased body once lay, the pain is blinding.

Initially the shock of the impact hits her, taking her breath away and leaving her gasping for air. Soon after comes the heat. The blood itself was warm, almost soothing, as it dripped from the wounds. Her skin itself was cold, her body felt weak. As she tries to regain an awareness of her surroundings, she makes out the shape of Spite approaching the altar through the agony. Next came the burning. Her veins began to light a fire under her skin as they run dry.

Before she could fully comprehend the scope of her pain, Spite had already begun to broaden it. She felt the demon mount her. Odrune struggles weakly against them, their talons holding her firmly in place. Fighting and struggling against the weight, she whimpers as she realizes it was hopeless. She’d had this nightmare a thousand times. This was the first time she had truly felt the pain of it.

“This is what you do night after night? Torture yourself?”

“Fuck you.” The words were weak and pitiful. Spite delighted in watching the struggle. 

“Always so sure of yourself in battle. What a treat to see this.” Spite takes her bloody hand into theirs, bringing it up to their face. The demon greedily inhales the scent of her blood, relishing in it. 

Watching in abject horror, Rune is frozen in place. Spite takes the opportunity the pull her wrist into their sharp beak, as they take their barbed tongue to her skin.

The sudden pain over the bloodletting marks cause her to cry out once more. She tried to pull away, but the shrieks of pain only embolden the demon, as they grip her tighter. Their tongue makes way into the wound. Spite lets out a moan of pleasure at the taste of her that almost distracts her from the pain entirely. The curiosity quickly slips  away as the sensation of Spite ripping the wound open tears through her. She feels a sudden rush of blood pouring down her arm, followed by the raspy tongue of the demon lapping up her remaining blood like a starved animal.

“So sweet.” Spite chuckles, looking at her as if this were all they had been craving.

She could hardly keep track of the demon through the pain. She had never experienced pain like this. The last time she’d felt this much blood loss, she’d lost her life. Emmrich found her mangled body in this very hall. She’d needed several mortalitasi to resurrect her. The rules were different here, as always with the damned fade. She’d no idea how long Spite could keep her here like this.

“Don’t look so frightened, Rune” The use of her given name cut through her sharper than any blade could. “I can feel how badly you need this.”

“How?” She whimpered, unsure which statement she was questioning.

“The veil holds more than you know.” They said with arrogance. She began trying to search the demon’s face for answers, but Spite had already started their next move.

The demon tossed her mutilated arm to the side carelessly, before taking their free hand and plunging into her chest.

The pressure stopped her breathing, as she felt the claws tearing through the soft tissue of her core. She let out a choked gargling noise, as she felt blood rising in her throat. As it flowed out of her mouth, cascading down her skin, Spite carefully licked every drop clean, in a twisted form of intimacy

Spite pulled away, happily taking in her pained expression while ripping her heart directly from her chest. She felt the hollow absence left in its place, as she began to crave the searing touch, the overwhelming pressure.