THE UNSPEAKABLE ONE

                     𝙷𝙴      𝚂𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙴𝚂         𝙷𝙴𝚁  .         makes  her  angry  ,  makes  her  furious  .  he  makes  it  sound  so  easy  ,  so  full  of  dark  and  longing  and  everything  that  she  hides  .  so  easily  do  his  hands  pluck  that  thing  called  a  heart  from  her  body  ,  watch  it  bleed  softly  ,  unhuman  ,  unhappily  .  it  is  enough  to  make  her  sick  .  hands  balled  up  in  fists  ,  tremoring  with  a  tepid  kind  of  hate  as  she  walks  over  and  pulls  him  by  the  collar  .      “   what  do  you  know  ,   ”      spat  with  venom  ,  brow  furrowed  as  her  grip  gets  ever  the  more  tighter  .  tattoo  cuts  into  the  metal  of  her  hand  ,  sparks  flying  as  they  meet  for  the  first  time  .  he  says  it  so  sincerely  ,  so  pitifully  .  it  becomes  hard  to  ignore  and  she  hates  him  for  it  .  she  hates  that  he  knows  ,  that  he  can  feel  that  blood  that  burns  beneath  false  skin  .  she  can  still  hear  them  ,  still  feel  their  pale  hands  in  hers  ,  see  their  bodies  crumpled  beneath  the  rubble  .  they  tell  her  something  she  never  wants  to  hear  again  .  he’s  right  .      “   just  shut  the  hell  up  already  .   ”      she  throws  him  down  ,  that  hurt  in  her  voice  echoing  in  the  valley  they  laid  their  corpses  in  .      “   you  don’t  know  a  damn  thing  .   ”      how  her  eyes  hold  all  that  hate  ,  that  hurt  .

what does your muse smell like?      dirt. incense. nothing fancy. when he’s not napping in pews, he’s walking around in the forest doing god knows what. don’t look behind you if you’re on a trail.

what do your muse’s hands feel like?      rough, sharp, wrong. underneath gloves (which he always wears and will very rarely take off) his hands are calloused, scarred, and covered in scrawl-like tattoos that mar and damage his skin. he never lets anyone see them or touch them (without good reasoning) because they’d hurt people, so. they’d be painful. like acid on your skin.

what does your muse usually eat in a day?      he..tries to eat regular food. more like a snacks and scraps kinda guy whenever he’s feeling it, but the truth is that his diet and appetite mostly consists of humans. during the day he might eat a few helping of regular, humane foods, and in the night he’s on the loose.

does your muse have a good singing voice?      no. doesn’t like to sing anyway. 

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous tics?      stares at people. really, really stares. bites at his lips until they bleed. doesn’t brush his hair. has a tendency to just start crying like a small child, as well as a tendency to go wild mad at the drop of a hat.

what does your muse usually look like/wear?      fairly well dressed. likes to wear a lot of layers to hide his imperfections, so for example: turtleneck shirts underneath cardigans, underneath heavy coats or the occasional large trench coat. always wears some dark colored gloves and long pants to accompany. shows only the skin on his face. dresses everyday like its winter, basically.

is your muse affectionate?  how much?  how so?     yes, but not in healthy ways. is more so clingy physically than he is in an emotionally affectionate way. he will say nice things about people he likes and/or loves, but prefers to be on the receiving end of pleasantries. sorta just follows you around like a puppy and leans close. is only outwardly affectionate when he wants something in return. his affectionate is almost always a projection of what he wants from you/what he thinks you are, rather than what you actually are.

what position does your muse sleep in?      fetal position. curled up tight. 

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?  i’d say no. doesn’t like to yell and doesn’t have a very loud voice to start with. rather quiet. if all else was silent and you were listening very, very closely, then you might hear him.

    𝙽𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙲𝙷                    /                   THE MAW.

       *  𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳   𝙾𝙵   𝙰   𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙼   𝙳𝚁𝚄𝙼.  Footsteps along the hard concrete under her feet, the jingle of her sword and the thump if it hitting her side. Eyes peering forward, hard and hungry, took notice of the stranger. Not turning to face them, stopping in her tracks, letting eyes look upon such a form. 

                 ‘     𝙰 𝙽𝙴𝚆 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝙴, 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙼𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙾𝙵 𝚆𝙰𝚁 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄? Though no fires flame the streets, I will soon set it ablaze.     ’

                    “   𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝙻𝙻   𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴   𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺   .   “   won’t  you  ?  the  sun  always  shines  in  the  early  morning  .  the  dew  sets  .  the  birds  chirp  .  there  is  a crisp  reality  that  never  fades  ,  but  he’s  trapped  in  these  harrowing  dreams  which  he  cannot  escape  ,  these  horrible  fantasies  he  cannot  run  from  .  she  is  so  soft  a  thing  .  too  soft  .  too  little  and  too  much  of  her  ,  just  enough  and  not  enough  to  fit  in  his  gaping  hands  .  the  sorrow  is  unbearable  ,  but  the  desire  beckons  .  this  deep  emotion  swells  in  his  belly  ,  curls  around  his  insides  and  wriggles  up  his  throat  .  she  will  always  remember  his  crocodile  tears  for  what  they  really  are  .  him  for  what  he  really  is  .   “   you  came  back  every  time  .  i  can  wait   ———   you  know  i  can  .   “   he  is  desperate  ,  holding  onto  each  small  beam  of  light  that  comes  his  way  .  she  wanes  and  he  weeps  ,  tears  himself  asunder  in  wait  .  she  comes  and  goes  in  agony  .  there  must  be  more  .   “   you’ll  never  leave  me  .   “

              “   𝙸𝚃      𝚆𝙰𝚂      𝙱𝚄𝚃      𝙰      𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼 .   ”  The boy smells of her death.  She smiles, soft as a bell’s chime, for how funny it is to be strangled.  Her anger is short-lived.  The body had been chopped up into pieces and fed to the gardens already.  No need to revenge for every little mess.  “   Look  how  alive  I  am  ——-   look  closely ,  dear  boy.   ”  Her dainty fingers slide through his hair, not to dig into the scalp, not to cut it off.  Then, she pets him like a stupid pup.  “   Terrible  deeds  ought  to  stay  in  terrible  dreams ,  nay ?   ” 

      @naireach·

it means ya boi cu is back in town ;))))))))))