((TW: self harm, suicide idealization, implied cannibalism, mindfuck))
Pain. Burning, itching- claws red, claws wet, claw herself claw herself she’s burning she’s cold she’s so cold why can’t she get warm where it is warm?
Fire. Fire warm. Make fire.
Flames eating consuming hungry she’s hungry hungry hungry hUNGRY
Later. Wet and warm on her face, her hands, salty sweet in her teeth, she’s not hungry but it’s not enough it’s never enough where is it where is it where-
There. Red and beautiful. Calling. She needs it. She needs it..
Later. A rocky overhang, a small stream, darkness falling twisted by red magic. The world is red. Sated, sleepy, tired so tired
(This is wrong. A rare moment of clarity, terror: what’s happening to her?)
Later. Shaking. She needs it. She has to have it. Where is it where is find it find it where is the stone red like blood she needs the bloodstone she needs-
-to roll, snarling, as the hammer comes down. The woman in rags is vaguely familiar, her wild red eyes mirrors of Cael’s own as she smashes a hammer down. The charr leaves lines from her claws in the dirt as she rights herself and flings herself forward. The hammer hits, but the shaft breaks on her chest and what remains of the armor there and then the soft hollow of the woman’s throat beckons
Time passes. Hunger, always. Itchy need for violence driving her, it never stops it never stop it never stops unless she is fightingkillingeating gorged on hot fresh meat and the blood red stone
(She never dies. Her guardian magic keeps her alive even when she wishes it wouldn’t, the moments of lucidity rarer and rarer, and she throws herself into a fight in hopes she will not come out.)
Hungry. Hungry. Ghosts come in the night and she fights and she fights and she fights and she fights
Later. Pain. Wounds. Slow healing, itchy shaky need to go need to find it hungry need need she needs she needs she NEEDS
Crack of bone crunch of red stone beneath her teeth, rip apart the metal shell for the soft flesh beneath, red stone is there the red stone is inside she needs she needs she needs
Hunger. Was she ever not hungry? Not hurting? Not shaky from the pain and the need? She can’t remember. She should remember. Who was she? Where did she come from? Did it matter?
(There are no more dreams, no comforting arms, no soft voice. Her sleep is fitful, dyed red, dripping. She shakes and needs.)
She was still hungry. She needed. Something moves in the brush, a Vigil crusader with wild eyes, and the beast in her rumbled awake, starving
And she fights and she kills and she eats and she needs and shakes and needs and kills and kills and kills and kills and the world the rising sun is dyed red like blood like the stone like blood like blood like blood