[ malkuth opens her mouth to answer; her stomach complains loudly, as if the abnormality's whining had manifested in that way. her mouth shuts and she stares down at the flesh and scales, finger digging into soft. it doesn't give. the fairies sigh pleasantly in her mind.
...
it's always for his sake. everything she does is for his, for netzach's. why can't he just turn away? it's not like she's asking for much. does he even know much she's starving? clawing out her own insides for over a month, now, trying to expel every bit of rot that claims she's in the wrong; does he understand how much it hurts? hunger pangs are far beyond him, heart pangs perhaps closer in that metal form of his, but...
... but still, the words remain behind her tightly pressed smile and she swallows again, the words and saliva going with it. isn't it enough to know they're fine from afar? it is, it is. she's not starving at all. she's filled that space with so many other people now, so why does she still feel so empty more times than not? ]
... Fine. That's your choice then, Yesod. Take a seat and let me eat -- they're really, really grating.
[ she's not apologetic for the irritation that seeps in her tone because of it either, or the rift's worsening of her mood. instead, malkuth's simply going to be testing what place would be easiest to slice from with her nails and taking her serrated scythe to it.
methodical, like malkuth's notes. but impatient, like malkuth herself.
they're not nice cuts, and the hybrid's jerk in half-consciousness mingles their blood as she catches hand in the mix. but she still presses down harder on the arm, unfeeling of the pain that mimics the wretch in her chest, avoiding yesod's gaze entirely as she works to make a pile easier for her to eat that the fairies wouldn't need at all with their carnivorous smiles. ]
its cannibalism and dismemberment from here on out folks
...
it's always for his sake. everything she does is for his, for netzach's. why can't he just turn away? it's not like she's asking for much. does he even know much she's starving? clawing out her own insides for over a month, now, trying to expel every bit of rot that claims she's in the wrong; does he understand how much it hurts? hunger pangs are far beyond him, heart pangs perhaps closer in that metal form of his, but...
... but still, the words remain behind her tightly pressed smile and she swallows again, the words and saliva going with it. isn't it enough to know they're fine from afar? it is, it is. she's not starving at all. she's filled that space with so many other people now, so why does she still feel so empty more times than not? ]
... Fine. That's your choice then, Yesod. Take a seat and let me eat -- they're really, really grating.
[ she's not apologetic for the irritation that seeps in her tone because of it either, or the rift's worsening of her mood. instead, malkuth's simply going to be testing what place would be easiest to slice from with her nails and taking her serrated scythe to it.
methodical, like malkuth's notes. but impatient, like malkuth herself.
they're not nice cuts, and the hybrid's jerk in half-consciousness mingles their blood as she catches hand in the mix. but she still presses down harder on the arm, unfeeling of the pain that mimics the wretch in her chest, avoiding yesod's gaze entirely as she works to make a pile easier for her to eat that the fairies wouldn't need at all with their carnivorous smiles. ]