#guiltridden

For @guiltridden​

Fog eddied and swirled around Donna’s ankles, tendrils lingering like a lover’s touch as she clasped her hands smoothly in her lap. Within her tender grasp was something wholly precious. Pale petals in bloom that tickled at her palms. The befuddling neurotoxin within a mere crushing fist away, ground to paste and inhaled for everything to swim and to bleed and to melt.

          “Hn                           Beautiful.” The Lord hummed.

She did not need to turn to know of his presence. Emotion clung to him like a miasma of sickness. Grief shrivelled into apathy. Loneliness to delusion. Kindred to her own spirit in a way. When Donna rose to speak, it was not her own voice that passed her lips. Nor her own shrouded skin that she wore. 

         “James.”    

Not-Maria said. Lips pushed back to reveal pink gums and straight even teeth. 

          “James I’m so glad you’re safe. I was so scared. I thought I lost you!”

The woman’s shape shivered like a candle to a cool draught. Needy in its reaching for him.

𝐴𝑁𝐷     𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸     𝐻𝐸     𝑊𝐴𝑆,     𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸     𝐷𝐸𝐴𝑇𝐻     𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑀𝐸𝐷     𝑂𝑉𝐸𝑅.     and     what     a     beautiful     sight     he     was     ;     the     holy     apostle’s     lamb.     the     vision     to     his     mirror     of     flesh     and     rot.     sunderland     knows     well     the     screaming     of     his     holy     blade     upon     rusted     metal,     and     the     executioner     knows     well     the     lies     written     by     a     mind     too     soured     with     guilt     to     swallow     them     down.     yes,     𝑯𝑬     𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑺     𝑭𝑶𝑹     𝑯𝑰𝑴,     𝑯𝑬     𝑳𝑶𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑺     𝑯𝑰𝑴,     𝑯𝑬     𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫     𝑵𝑶𝑻     𝑩𝑬,     𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑻     𝑯𝑰𝑴.     and     what     a     fickle     thing     it     was,     the     creation     of     this     purgatory     for     him.     the     things     he     suffers     for     him.     the     folly     of     his     actions     was     never     carrying     out     the     tasks,     but     growing     upon     them     into     one.     (     q     ;     does     he     remember     the     feeling     of     his     boot     upon     ribs?     &     how     foolish     does     he     think     him?     would     he     ever     look     into     those     eyes     and     find     recognition?     )                                                                     o’     mother,     i     beseech     thee,     reach     him     ---     reach     him     still     !     what     fate     would     have     it     that     he     was     to     be     the     shrouded     reflection     of     a     man     who     peered     into     himself     and     saw     none     but     a     monster?     what     horrors     he     held     in     that     mind     that     the     red     god     sated     to     lay     to     rest.     𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘     𝐈𝐒     𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄.     stands     there     before     him     awaiting     for     some     kind     of     miracle     in     this   place.     the     mercy     of     a     mother     long     since     borne     and     gone,     sent     to     rot,     ne’er     to     be     seen     again.

𝑂     𝐸𝑋𝐸𝐶𝑈𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑅,     𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐷𝑌     𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅     𝐴𝐼𝑀     𝐴𝑁𝐷     𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐼𝐾𝐸 !     -----     holds     with     a     vice     grip     while     crushed     beneath     the     weight     of     another     creatures     anguish     –     loathing     --     𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬 !     ...     a     hollow     sort     of     sound,     new     in     its     nature     of     confusion,     searching     for     something     poignant     in     him     and     finding     nothing.     rolls     his     shoulders     as     if     exasperated     in     some     small     way     by     james’     own     rejection     of     this     place,     of     him.                                                                         𝐼’𝐿𝐿     𝐷𝑂     𝐼𝑇     𝐴𝐿𝐿,     𝐹𝑂𝑅     𝑌𝑂𝑈,     𝐹𝑂𝑅     𝑌𝑂𝑈 !     𝑊𝑅𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻𝐸𝐷     𝐶𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐸     𝐼     𝐴𝑀     𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅     𝑆𝐴𝑉𝐼𝑂𝑅 !     inhuman     sort     of     noise     crescendos     from     his     breathing     as     he     throws     him     with     such     force     upon     the     floor,     to     watch     him     struggle     once     more     to     those     feet.     𝑌𝑂𝑈     𝑃𝑅𝐴𝑌𝐸𝐷     𝐹𝑂𝑅     𝑆𝐴𝐿𝑉𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁,     𝑅𝐸𝐷𝐸𝑀𝑃𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁,        𝐈     𝐀𝐌     𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑     𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 !

𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙺     !     𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙺     !     𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙺     !     it     echoes     in     his     mind     like     a     reverb     grown     too     powerful     to     bear     ---     the     cause     for     his     erratic     movements     as     he     fumbles     to     recover.     for     he     was     not     the     only     one   to     bear     the     weight     of     those     sins.     he     was     not     alone     in     the     darkness     of     the     place     that     is     silent.      𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍’𝐓     𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄     𝐈𝐓,     𝐇𝐄     𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒     𝐍𝐎𝐓     𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄     𝐓𝐎     𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑     𝐇𝐈𝐒     𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑     𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊     𝐀𝐍𝐃     𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑     𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 !      rage     dripping     from     his     divine     effigy.     with     every     step     he     takes     towards     him,     slow,     intentional,     𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇.     and     there     he     looms     o’er     him,     shrouded     in     some     red     light.     reflects     upon     those     words,     that     plea.                                                 let   ...   go. [?]

you     don't     want     that.   ---   you     don't     want     that.   ---   𝐘𝐎𝐔     𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓     𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓     𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 !

𝑇𝑂𝑁𝐸     𝐿𝑂𝑊,     𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸     𝐺𝑅𝐼𝑁𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺     𝑀𝐸𝑇𝐴𝐿     𝐼𝑁     𝑃𝑅𝑂𝑇𝐸𝑆𝑇,      in     misery     and     distain     for     how     it's     torn     and     bent.     growing     loud,     crescendoing     like     something     finally     snapping.