𝙼𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚡

3 days ago

Deverified

A user of unestablished repute

transgender

love yourself

Lavender Menace

A moniker of adorable eldritch evil.

@discardedPasts[DP]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘:@prevaricatorySimulation Remember the sound that he made when he hit the floor. Sometimes in the little hours when the sun's been up for too long, and you've eluded sleep for enough blinks to allow the delirium of sleep deprivation to set in, you can hear it when it gets too quiet. Avoiding the daymares only ever seems to be an exchange for a different collection of psychological dangers. The sound of the thud that his body made as it ragdolled onto the ground and spattered cobalt across the carpeting that he'd been so neurotic about keeping clean. Do you remember? You realized that night that trolls don't die like they do in the movies. There's no dramatic building tension beforehand, there's no noble framing of the horns and a look of defiance from the hero. When a troll is shot in the head there is only a sickeningly immediate weight of an empty body losing all of its posture at once. One second there is a person. The next second there is a dead thing on the floor. You were five and a half sweeps old. Tomorrow was his wriggling day. To celebrate he was going to take you to the theater to see that opera that you had been so excited about, the one that he told you he watched when he was your age. There were four of them. They were saying things, but the voices were underwater. You watched it happen from beneath the loungeplank, the one with the butterfly patterns, both prongs clasped over your mouth so that they wouldn't be able to hear your breathing. They heard you breathing. She dragged you out from underneath the plank by the hair. You hissed like you were the little feral animal that you had been when he'd found you. Like you were the same little wild thing you had been when he'd taken you into his hive. You bit her as hard as you could. She hit you. You scrambled for the window. Three stories. You remember it was three stories because the third story was the room where the loungeplank with the butterfly pattern was. You ran. Remember the sound that he made when he hit the floor. I'm sorry #nsfw #gore #violence 𝙼𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚗