Stigmata Martyr // fyodor x reader

Chapter 1

Dark nights. Over and over again. Seems like they go in an endless cycle, copying one another.

Another one of those nights was tonight. Nothing spectacular, just like every other. You scratch the wound, deepen the pain, bleed, mourn, then write her a letter, even if you promised you would stop and that the yesterday's was the last one. You folded it gently, with your slim, cold fingers that are stained with the cheapest ink.

A slightest look outside and you notice raindrops dripping down the window. Slowly, it begins to fasten, making an irritating sound while hitting the glass, a dumb one, like a silenced knock. A million of them in a spawn of a second. The rain usually relaxes people, but to you it's the opposite, it always awakened the deepest memories you would like to forget. It makes you more tensed and nervous. A constant, uneven sound, the unclear sight, hidden stars behind the gray and obnoxious clouds, everything just made you feel uneasy. You like to see things clearly, the brutal truth, some might say it's just a way to be harsh and get away with it. For you, there was always a dissatisfaction with blurry statements, such as sweetcoated truths or white lies.

"Damn it.", you blurted out as you accidentally spilled the ink all over the table. You try to get it to stand still, but it seems to not go as you planned since it kept falling again and again. Sensing the growth of fire burning inside of you wasn't of any help, still you tried to keep your composure and rationalize yourself.

"Take a deep breath, count to three and try it again, it's not a big deal."

You turn around to walk away, closing your eyes and taking another deep breath after you just cleaned the table and got the ink bottle to stand still. But then it silently fell over and tapped the table. It spilled again.

Dead silence.

Suddenly, a loud smash on the ground was heard and the sight was just like one from the real crime scene. Black liquid painting your walls and the floor, windows and the table. The sparkle in your eyes caused by the agression was wearing off, you feel the boiling from the inside restraining itself, like a blazing volcano cooling down after an eruption. Anger is fast to stab you in the chest like a sharp knife but after that gasp for the air, that blackout of the mind, you can only bear the grief of your actions on your back. It eats you from the inside, but is it really your fault? No one was there for you to show you the right way to deal with pressure anymore.

You were quick to leave the room, ignoring the bloody mess you just made, wearing an unpleasant expression that wasn't a very unusual guest on your face. Since you were always dissatisfied with something lately. You just couldn't find anything to fulfill you and bring the joy back in your life, if it was ever even there.

■□■□■□■□■□■

Nothing was strange to you anymore. Not even the fact that you're constantly writing the letters to someone who will never read them. It's not that she's ignoring you or that she's on the other end of the world, she just has been buried for eleven years . And you're standing in front of her low budget grave made by a ten year old who's twenty one now. Long black dress dancing with the wind that's usual on the hill where her grave is located on, your tired eyes, that always look like life was drained out of them, are focused on the engraved words:

"Simone de Beauvoir, once an angel on Earth now an angel in heaven."

The moon is full. And you're talking to a piece of the wood surrounded with unopened letters and the earth beneath which is a corpse of someone who you deeply cared for. Someone who you would have died for, killed for, bled for, everything. Only parental figure you ever had and will ever have. She was the one teaching you how to write and read, take care of yourself, she taught you how to breath and how to see and to value, most importantly how to love. Only one that could handle your stubbornness and attitude that sometimes leashed out with no particular reason. But only thing she could never do was understand you. No matter how gentle and open-minded she was, you were just a mystery to her no matter disregard of the amount of time you two have spent together. And it hurt you, it hurt you bad, the love without an understanding. It's a very laborious thing to handle.

"Day 4,106th, Simone." you whispered with a voice gentler than the breeze. "It really has been that much, huh? I brought you a letter, like I always do. I had to do a lot of work since we last saw each other, I'm deeply sorry that I couldn't have payed you a visit earlier..."

"I still remember how much you loved rain, and I also still don't understand why. You used to tell me how romantic you found it. It was so silly, I found you really laughable then. We were so different but yet we got along better then other biologically connected mothers and children.", you smiled softly leaving the letter and a bouquet of white lilies on the left side of the wooden cross. "You always said it's because-", at that moment you acknowledged your intuition who was telling you something was off.

You weren't alone since you came here, maybe even since you walked out of the house. Naturally, you didn't panic. Not even having to look around, you already knew who it is twenty meters far from you, because you weren't stupid, who else can it be? Who else than him?