𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕼𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖓'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖔𝖓: 𝕯𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖎𝖕𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉

Embodiment and Imprisonment

TW: Corpses/bizarre dolls, blood, gore, psychological torture/torment, and a desire to die

"If you really want to know, we'll have to start with the basics," the Undertaker snickered. "I can tamper with Cinematic Records, but I cannot create souls. Which is what makes Y/N such an interesting result. It appears that somehow I was able to pull a soul from some great unknown, and I was able to stitch it into the corpse of an old friend."

"So, who am I?" Y/N demanded to know.

"Which do you mean?" Cackled the Undertaker. "Your soul? Apparently you're Y/N, although I have no idea where you're from or how I got you here. And as far as your body is concerned, she was an old friend I found myself missing. Now, moving on. In my shock and the delirious pain I'm sure Y/N was experiencing as the corpse began to heal itself, Y/N managed to not only destroy my shop, but escape down the alley as well. I didn't believe it entirely when I first saw her, but not even a day later, Y/N was up and moving on her own. She started making quite the life for herself and it appeared she had no memory of being brought to life in this world, nor did she remember what happened when she first arrived. However, after further examination, I discovered it was Y/N I had created, and not who I was trying to revive. So it was back to work," sighed the Undertaker.

Y/N wanted to throw herself over the railing of the lounge's staircase. She wanted a piece of the shattered lounge window to slice right through her throat. She wanted Grelle to gut her like a pig for the slaughter. She wanted Ronald to bash her head in with his scythe. She wanted Sebastian to rip her skull from her body. She wanted to die.

Because if she was dead...

Then it would all stop.

Y/N's confusion would stop. Her anger would stop. The feeling that her heart had just been ripped out of her chest and stabbed through with an icicle would stop. The feeling that her skin and muscles and her whole body was like a mask would stop. The aching in her stomach that made her feel like some kind of imposter would stop. And the endless stream of tears flooding down her face as the woman collapsed to her knees, heaving, gasping for air like she couldn't breathe, would stop.

Y/N couldn't hear what her friends were saying, their calls and cries all muted, as all she could hear was the hammering of her own heart and her uneven breathing.

Her world shook a bit, someone had fallen to their knees next to her, and they were shaking her shoulders, calling out her name. But Y/N's eyes were glued on her own trembling hands that were dug into the Campania's lounge carpet.

"Y/N!" It was muffled, sounding distant and far away, even though the boy was right next to her. "Y/N!" He called again, shaking and pulling on her trembling arm. "Y/N, can you hear me?"

She could hear him. She knew who he was. It was Ciel. "You should answer him," a voice whispered inside Y/N's mind. "Go on, answer him."

"I'm not even real," Y/N whimpered meekly, bile rising in her throat.

"Don't say something so foolish," Ciel muttered, holding on tight to Y/N. "You're Lady Y/N L/N. You're as real as any of us. It doesn't matter who the Undertaker tried to bring back, you're here now and you're not leaving, I won't allow you to." Although he was trying to save some face and still seem mean, Y/N could see right through him. Ciel cared about Y/N, and he was just as scared and confused as she was, but he would pretend he wasn't for her sake.

"It's rude to interrupt, you know. Anyhow, while I made sure to keep an eye on Y/N for any developments, I continued to experiment. Despite my best efforts, I was not able to get even close to the, I suppose you could call it success, that I achieved with Y/N. Most of my experiments became no more than dolls of flesh without an ego, without a life, something only Y/N has possessed so far," chuckled the Undertaker darkly. "And so I call them thus-neither living nor dead-they are 'Bizarre Dolls,' warped flesh puppets."