[Little sebaciel warm up I did in a live-write session the other day on discord. Prompt from @lizziesgf: mercy kill through suffocation. TW: death (albeit poetic and vague)]
And here he lies, within the confines of his sculpted throne turned death bed. Weak. No, delicate. Such has always been the state of my master. In need and inevitable want. Never satisfied, only glowering and gluttonous, fingers spread apart as far as his legs, wanting, begging, gasping...
And I, the servant, am always there to provide. To give, to clothe, to feed, to please.
And now, as his breaths stutter and his chest fills with impurities, he calls out for me. In a state such as this, even, he thinks to hold tight to his true damnation.
I suppose that is what comes from never obtaining a crown you dedicate your life to. Losing all of your chess pieces. Selling your soul to the Devil.
His skin is so warm now for a mortal and I've never wanted more than to rip the flesh from his bones to make room for this bloodied curse I shall bestow on his very existence.
How foolish you have been.
So quick to pass judgment, to play God. And yet, you have fallen at the foot of your own throne.
Your suffering pierces my stale absence of beating organs and I can conjure up the idea of what it'd be like, what it'd feel like, to...
Your breaths are shallow. And your heart is heavy. Ah, yes. I can taste it. The distinct flavor of your suffering.
It sits upon your lips like the bitter chocolate you'd sneak from the cupboard. I can taste it there, softly, gently.
The hummingbird that flutters throughout your rib cage wants to be freed.
Your lungs sound like grated metal and the skin over your eyes is glazed over with a boysenberry tint. Cheeks, damp with pain. Skin, flush with fever. My broken little master...
With the palms of my hands and the black of my nails, please... allow me.
Your body hardly spasms beneath me. And though your eyes flutter open in surprise, in terror, I am here. I am here for you, so hush now.
Be it because of the blaze in my conjured bones or the fire you set upon the void of my very soul, I shall deliver you, Ciel Phantomhive.
And though you claw and cry out beneath my grasp, I will make sure you will never suffer again. Make sure you never take another agonizing breath in this miserable life you've had the displeasure of gracing.
And you, Ciel Phantomhive, will always...
izzy806
discoholicmusic
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines
romaincrisis
gamechangershow
