[ DISCONTINUED / REWRITING ]Tattooed: A Tale of Fate | Kafka x F!Reader

9 l Votrarvis

"Terra somnium intrabitis,"

A gloopy liquid that shines in a variety of colours dances in the corner of your closed vision. Oddly enough, your mind seems to be relaxed by it, like feeling the deep depth of a planet's enigmatic ocean.

Life moves at an excruciatingly slow speed in the world of the enigmatic depths of the abyss we call the ocean. A place filled with silence, darkness, and emptiness. It is the perfect metaphor for the feeling you currently possess.

Movement became like a faraway dream, yet fear was not a thought that seemed to cross your mind. Instead, comfort engulfs every nerve of your body.

Eyes remained closed, and memories of the past remained a past. If one were to ask you what had conspired in the past few hours, perhaps it was days? No answer can be formed by the lips and mind of a soul who is clueless.

With this thought crossing through, you try to recall the past events that had leapt into your course of fate, yet none came to mind except for one. Kafka remains a thorn in both body and mind, even when dream and reality collide.

As your thoughts go deeper, you can't help but feel like an important puzzle piece has been lost. Nowhere to be found in the complex yet empty mind of yours. The only evidence of the important puzzle piece's existence is nothing but a mere delusion.

"ut obliviscatur et ignoscat,"

Like a waterfall, calmness is but a temporary moment. Chaos ensues in your mind. Memories start flashing, revealing ones that you don't even remember making.

A single breath leaves your lips. A heartbeat thumps inside your weightless body. A thought crosses your mind.

No. It wasn't a single thought. It was millions running course all at once. What ■■■■■■ Why■■■■■ When■■■■■ It doesn't make sense.

"I was just at ■■■■■■ ugh ■■■■ can't think. What is ■■■■"

"terra caeli pro peccatoribus."

.

..

...

"Wake up, little lady. It's nearing dawn."

A voice associated with a cunning man whispers into your ears. Your eyes snap open, and you jolt up. Your breathing is heavy, and out of survival instinct, you back away from the voice and try to find a source of weapons.

A laugh draws out of the man, and immediately you look up at the unwelcome guest.

He's a tall male, with shoulder-length dark brown hair tied messily into a man bun. He wears a button-up shirt that is barely buttoned. A dark green apron wrapped around the entirety of his image and dirty dark green pants complete his whole attire. Despite the complete slovenliness that you observe in the man, his handsome features certainly bring out the beauty in the mess. Sharp jawline, cheekbone, surprisingly luscious lip, and a mysterious aura surrounding him. He is the definition of most women's ideal type. Although he does have a scar on his face.