#just a bite

The Cockatrice’s sharpenings have been happening more and more often. It tried not to think about what was happening. It wasn’t their task to think about it, why there’d been so much focus.

They’d given it an actual cell this time, as if expecting something. It was in so much pain, she couldn’t consider why she was in a room with one way glass.

It couldn’t think at all, even. Its back muscles hurt so bad.. they’d been hurting for weeks but.. this time was different. It kept hurting more everytime they thought it couldn’t get worse.

Why, it asked itself. Why was it still alive?

…

It was wrong.

The Cockatrice trembled, falling against the tiled floor with a guttural scream. It saw blood.. their blood splashed against the ground.

It didn’t know why, as it writhed, slipping on its own blood, that the door opened.

All it could take in was the footsteps. It couldn’t growl, couldn’t see through its eyelids now squeezed shut from the hallway light.

It just lied flat, 2 bare blood covered wings bared across the floor as she whined quietly, begging to not be left as she was.