#sorry one of my fave things to write these days is violante's grieving

[vvanessaives]

WIP WHENEVER

i was tagged by @katsigian and @enverflymm, thank you so much!! <3

tagging: @devilbrakers @quickhacked @hibernationsuit @avallachs @halsin @mightymizora and whoever else wants to do this, i forgot who writes so if you want to jump on this go ahead

unethical autopsy under the cut, sorry

The slash had to be wider, so Violante provided by hand and blade. She blinked in rapid succession a few times and sank the dagger as far as she could into the torso. It was easy to part skin from bone, neither cared to put up a fight and stay anchored to one another, instead it was neatly separating as if the flesh desired to come off, to break down, to lose the battle for preservation.

Violante thought of peaches and kitchen knives, of summer. A contorted smile turned her mouth as she peeled the flesh off Ruven and her vision, perhaps her mind, slipped past his remains. The black rot that came in patches like the dented portion of the fruit, the fetid liquid overflowing from the orifices a sweet juice rippling down the fingers after a bite–nourishment and death, Violante swore she could taste the carrion on her tongue. Viscous but sweet, dry yet sapid, and wrong, oh so wrong and bloodcurdling and–

With a sudden retch she folded on the floor, her hand clasped the cloth covering the lower half of her face and promptly pulled it down. The coughing fits were intense, violent, and tore her throat as if something was trying to escape from there with teeth and claws, splitting her trachea. The hilt of the dagger hit the ground with a thud, a pearl of saliva hanging by her lips following suit. Violante's hand scrambled between dust and dried blood to find curved fingers, dull and darker than the rest of the body, and when found, she moved past and went for the wrist–still no pulse to be found, unsurprisingly. Fingernails teared the surface as she gripped it; she bowed impossibly low, forehead resting between the dirt and her own spit, arm circling her stomach like it was cramping. At that point, she was ready to look.

It was easier to stare at Ruven this time, he had no eyes to return her gaze. He had no head. Violante laughed–loud at first, the kind that made crinkles appear around the corner of the eyes, then quieter, irregular like a hiccup. She liked him quieter, she found. But how did his voice sound anyway? It couldn't be forgotten already, could it be? She retracted her hand as if it was burning; he was so cold it hurt. She didn't like him cold, she found as well, and she liked it better when the blood was hot and running instead of aggregated and frozen. A grin twitched to surface then a scowl and then again a smile, unsure if her lips wanted to stay up or down, if they had to express joy or grief. It did not matter, she had to focus so she pushed herself up and straightened her spine.

Do monsters have a heart?

The dagger exposed Ruven's gut. Maggots were feasting on the decomposing innards, swarming a stomach almost fully decayed, feeding off the intestines and the spleen until they would fall apart. Ruven was being consumed, as if he was nothing more than livestock. It was wrong, even in its inescapable nature. Violante couldn’t stop thinking of the word–wrong, wrong, wrong.

A pitiful sob, that’s all she allowed, then a murmur–It shouldn’t be you. She repeated the words until they filled the room like a prayer. It shouldn’t be you. It should be me.

She rubbed her face against her sleeve and stopped only when the friction began stinging enough to know her skin had reddened. Then, she resumed her work. 

The nose crinkled and the brow fell down at the squirming worms: attempting the intrusion from there was out of the question now. She retrieved the dagger and tentatively plunged the sharp end through the breastbone–a mere test. The blade felt dull when she attempted to stab through the breastbone, in the low candlelight she swore she couldn’t find a faint mark left behind. There was no other choice, she had to start sawing through his ribs.

#tag games #oc: violante #sorry one of my fave things to write these days is violante's grieving #i love how she suffers for the loss of the person and also for a part of herself that he took away with his death and at the same time i #love the anger and the spite hiding behind every corner of grief. also i love how she's barely stable through it all skfjskfjdk #my only problem is that she's doing freaky stuff only when no one is watching. i need someone to call her out soooo bad #anyways my beautiful insane woman i love it when she does anything <3