#putrefact

❝     Sic  mundus  creatus  est,   Muzan.      ❞         She  flicks  her  wrist,   and  the  mirror  in  front  of  them  shatters,  along  with  the  image  of  them  within  it.   Its  shards  float  to  the  ground,  like  a  thousand  piercing  snowflakes.     She  looks  out  the  window  they  stand  beside  and  towards  her  dark  horizon.      ❝     I  have  a  task  for  you,   if  you  are  interested.    One  that  you  may  find  appetizing.      ❞         

“ You've  traveled  far.   Surely  you'd  like  tea,  Tsukihiko-san? ”     As  she  asks,  she  feels  a  flush.   A  fever-feeling,  as  though  being  warmed  by  her  own  blood.   The  onset  of  thrill.

instead, desver straightens his spine, no longer using the height of his rifle as leverage:   exhaust spills into the movement, lacking its foxlike grace for a stray second long enough for him to feel it.   the corpse is warm, still.   do those people have families?   do they mourn?   will they be mourned?   “   quae nocent, docent.   ”   desver offers, sparing no more than a glance towards the cadaver’s rest.   that which hurts, teaches.   he doubts she has much more to learn.   “   to think we’d be brought to cooperation...   to think we’d work hand in hand.   would it be me laying there, if you had anything to say in the matter?   ”   the hound tilts his head, a kind of lukewarm hostility still stuck to the heel of his voice---his smile, although obscured, remains genteel.   “   i know you would, had you not been such a crucial asset.   ”

𝚃𝚑𝚎  𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚢  &  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢:   equally  acute,  equally  bewitching.                                                        A  singular,  distilled  ecstasy.She  senses  him  long  before  she  sees  him.   His  inhuman  closeness;  her  own  poisonous  fascination.   Like  a  tick  or  another  more  romantic  kind  of  haunting.

“ Yes, ”     she  agrees  in  a  soft,  salient  voice.“ Show  me  your  favorite,  won't  you? ”