Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
The question took her by enough surprise that Maea actually looked up, forced out of the dark spiraling in order to think. The cider was growing cold, but it still moistened her mouth; it had been a while since she talked this much with anyone. Getting tired of my own words
"A monster? I think..." Really, she did have to consider for a while. The image was so clear in her mind that she forgot not everyone could see it. "Someone who... doesn't care. A person who can't, or won't, treasure the life and well-being of others, or take them into consideration, and uses them for their own benefit. A being that takes pleasure in causing fear, pain and death, and makes excuses for why it's needful or necessary when it never should be. One who... sets themself over the community, and won't – or can't – be reasoned with, or compromise."
Images of bloody claws and gnashing teeth crossed her mind, and a recollection of dread, inescapable somethings that lurked in the dark, stalking past blackened windows and scratching on barred doors. Certain death, ultimate terror, the worst things that went bump in the night – and superimposed over that darkness lay a vision of herself, naked atop a pile of bones, dripping with blood, head thrown back in ecstacy while chewing, chewing on the flesh of a loved one. Not knowing, not caring about the sin, the crime, the awful sadness – too lost in the dark revelry to even notice.
"Someone... wretched and insane, that can only destroy whatever they touch..."
It was an awful image. Shuddering, Maea rubbed her eyes, face gone pale and drawn; would that she could banish it forever, but truth was it never truly left.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself
through the loudness of my own hurts
through the loudness of my own hurts
base inspired by Odd <3
