blood dry. / eirlys + annabelle

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я𝑜𝓈𝑒
Mentor

2,890 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her/they/them
last seen Nov 23, 2023 2:34:11 GMT -5

anyway don't be a stranger

blood dry. / eirlys + annabelle Feb 6, 2016 3:58:41 GMT -5

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Feb 6, 2016 3:58:41 GMT -5

A N N A B E L L E

^{i knock the ice from my bones
try not to feel the cold}
_____________________________

Crimson pools thickly on the table from a corpse. It is freshly dead, with a heartbeat that only ceased to silence minutes ago. My hand holds it down to the steel table by its shoulder. Flesh against flesh, I can feel its former warmth die. It gradually fades to cold and its color is draining to gray.

Small gloved hands clutch the handle of a knife. It is an elegant blade, and I think if I was in a different state of mind, I would take a moment to admire it being delving into "surgery." But I do not pause, I only plunge it into the corpse. My movements are too sharp, too harsh- I realize my mistake the moment it makes a stain.

My blades drives further into the corpse with aggression born from heartbreak. The incisions are not as perfect and straight and neat as they were when I began. There are jagged lines cut into the body. As I cut and cut and cut and cut, hot tears pour down my face like spring rain and I'm slowly turning to stone and yet I feel myself growing more fragile with every breath I take I'm slowly losing it I'm-

Celia is gone.

I throw my knife across the room, and it clatters on the floor. Steel against stone breeds a hollow sound.

_____________________________

^{caught in the thought of that time
when everything was fine, everything was mine}

table by chelsey

"even stars burn out."

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last seen Apr 24, 2024 14:11:31 GMT -5

blood dry. / eirlys + annabelle Feb 6, 2016 10:41:53 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Feb 6, 2016 10:41:53 GMT -5

("Then don't wake up-")

Fucking bullshit.

Celia could hold pride like knives in her palms and cut my heart straight out - I know she can, I'm the one who trained her - but she's shit against a firing squad. District twelve is the city of Sodom under the capitol's hands, lower district victors are treason at this point and- bullshit. Her backbones harder than mine, she'd last longer and I know it; damn, do I know it. But she's going to die and there's nothing I can do, Hyacinth and Olive got whipped and there was nothing I could do.

Nothing but forget.

A survival tactic I've held close to my veins for eighteen years, Ridley doesn't know how while Celia would rather just face them then watch them die on their own; suppression is bad for stress, but at this rate I'm not going to be the first Mortuus dead anyways.

("She'll be okay.")

There's a clatter down the stairs, the rattling of silver with cold Hospital air licking at my skin - I hate when they play with my shit. But it's different, I hate the way Hospital air smells despite it being around nearly every memory, but there's thickness to it, blood. "Shit." The cement floor is cold.

"Annabelle," blood is draining from the table, from uneven cuts and pale skin and my face goes pale, "what the fuck is this?" Eye brows furred, she won't look at me and it sounds like dry heaving while I walk over to the knife in white moccasins, blood still wet on the edge; I don't have the time left on this earth to drown this. "This isn't fucking child play, Belle," and I hate it when they fuck with my shit.

я𝑜𝓈𝑒
Mentor

2,890 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her/they/them
last seen Nov 23, 2023 2:34:11 GMT -5

anyway don't be a stranger

blood dry. / eirlys + annabelle Feb 6, 2016 14:04:11 GMT -5

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Feb 6, 2016 14:04:11 GMT -5

A N N A B E L L E

^{i knock the ice from my bones
try not to feel the cold}
_____________________________

She finds me with the mess I've made of the corpse on the table, blood on my gloves, knife thrown to the floor. "Shit." I hear her voice break the eerie silence, and I whip around to see my sister, standing with shock hardening her stature. "Annabelle, what the fuck is this?" Her eyes scrape along the ruins in dismay. I can't meet her gaze. "This isn't fucking child play, Belle." Her words feel patronizing, scolding. They burn with the guilt, cold in the depths of my stomach.

My hands squeeze into fists, and the blood caught on the gloves bubbles up to my thumbs from my clenched palms.

I lock my jaw into place and grind my back teeth together. "I-" I begin, but I can't find the words to finish. "I know, I just-" They shatter again, tumble to the floor to lie with the knife.

"I'm sorry."

They are stark words, spoken with a despairing harshness. A stray tear dribbles down my cheek from my eye. I don't know if it is pathetic or if it is brave.

_____________________________

^{caught in the thought of that time
when everything was fine, everything was mine}

table by chelsey

"even stars burn out."