break your wings

If this is asking if I’m comfortable with how I write her, then yes, I really am at ease with how I’ve shaped her up until now you know, so it’s just, it flows and I rarely ever meet a dead end with Hyeri. And even when I do, I manage to pull through it, because she’s Hyeri and somehow, she guides me more than I do at times. So I rarely ever feel uncomfortable when I play her.

"We should've just been born boneless." She let out, knowing how ridiculous of a statement that was. Her voice only addressed to herself. 

Pulling it out has some fun to it too, did you forget?

"Oh no, no I didn't, I just," she shook her head, glancing up at the stranger--a lucky pick. Not for him at least, she could feel bad about this, she wanted to. But he made it so easy not to because all the guilt passed right through her an as it came to him he just brushed it aside.

Don't you wanna see, just how far you can go?

Hyeri did, very much so. Curiosity piqued which made her always gave in and this was just her fourth one. Why wasn't she get better faster than this? 

Pull it out.

Right, pulling it out. She loved putting it in, she loved hearing the flesh rip apart as the metal blade made its way through veins. But when it came out. That was just pure bliss because it didn't take long, just one slide and it did more damage than when it cut through in. 

Out was more dangerous, more thrilling, out was the little knife, out was the sound the victim made, out was everything, out was his voice everything out and lou for the world to hear.

Not his screams though, the world should not hear that or they would lock her again. Take her freedom away once again. She fought for this freedom and she fought to get this canvas.

Indeed.

"Why a canvas?"

Doesn't it sound poetic?

Not really, she felt like saying but the heavy breathing of the man--the canvas--was getting on her nerves. Maybe it was time to end it. She stood from where she was, taking a few back steps, knife swirling through her fingers effortlessly. 

That as soon as her eyes fell on her work she understood what he meant, why he chose that word to address the before of the current being. Slashes where the skin was revealed, where she'd taken his shirt off.

Slashes so deep that the blood wouldn't stop spilling. skin that was so perfect at first now bloodied, soaked wet in red paint, pooling at her feet. So much blood, the scent of it almost intoxicating, it reminded her of the feeling of her blade against her skin.

Cool and enticing. 

He won't last.

"He won't last." 

Humans, they're all so fragile, even you.

A breeze past her shoulder, against her neck, her eyes closing to the feeling for the brief moment he became too real. 

"I'll learn to make it last, I'll make it last, for hours, on and on and they'l cry and scream, for hours." She looked up at the clock she hung up in the room a week before she started. She had to get everything ready before the hunt, always. Two hours, she lasted two hours. 

The first time hand't even lasted thirty minutes. A failure she hated dwelling on. The second one, forty minutes. The third one, an hour and half.

Because she'd practised, she learned every way to make it last, cutting the right way, the right veins so that the body did lose blood, the pain stayed and the brain stilled as well. The first time the victim collapsed before she could even get to the end of it. she'd been forced to end it abruptly and it had but them both in the worst of mood. 

The second one had been just the slightest bit better but the third one. She would always remember it. She screamed the most, she gave so much. An hour and a half and she was still breathing--barely even. Short puff of hair that could hardly make their way through the tissue in her mouth.

Too tired, probably dosed with too much to know that her nose could take in as much air as she wanted. Or maybe too exhausted and wishing death would take her if she refused to breathe by her nose. It hadn't mattered. Hyeri'd taken all her time and she'd been so satisfied that she'd been ecstatic for the next one.

She hadn't even felt twinge of regret or guilt when she put an end to it. The end was always by the throat. A quick slice that always ended  the job perfectly done, always made mre blood spill down the ground. So many carpet had been burned by now that she was glad she'd found this abandoned place where no neighbours existed.

It only hit her the next day, it alays only hit her the next day that she killed again. Bloody hands that she would wash over and over again, stopping the tears from falling because they wouldn't do anything. 

Why cry, leave that to those who witness your art.

Art, he called it art. She understood why, she knew why, the more she cut, the more she understood, the more he became part of her, the more she let him in, the more she wanted to cut. The ore she cute, the more she lost control and the blood.

The blood that ran down her hands, past her shoes and slipped under her nails. Blood that she would sometimes bring to her mouth, always surprised at how warm it was against her tongue, despite the cold way it tempted her nostrils. 

Finish it.

She did, tip of the nose against the throat of the man. His eyes wide, his head shaking, new tears, dry tears, all mixed against his skin. The face still this pale colour that could not compare to the beauty of the red that her hands left on the rest of his body.

Such a shame, that he couldn't see it, how more enticing, how more beautiful he was like that. Whimpering as the tip of the knife dug in, deeper, deeper.

Hurry, the sun will rise soon.

With the sun comes the urgency to clean it all, to hide away again. She slid the blade down onto his adam apple, looking it bob up and down, not letting him do it twice, thrusting the knife right through his throat.

Canvas? It reminded her more of a pig than a work of art. But she dared not to let her thoughts be known by him. She kept that to herself. Some things were better kept to herself, the way that he spoke, the way that she spoke, the difference in it made her feel inferior enough as it was.

His mind, her mind, running in parallel lines always made her feel uneasy. Was she being played, was she playing him? At times those questions rose, but she always shut them down. Because at the end of it all the only thing that mattered was what reconciled those differences..