óÓò
There is some background to this which I will post eventually, but for now here's this
Cw: gore
óÓò
Etho
He wanted to scream.
He needed to scream.
He needed to run, he needed to hide, he needed to have control over his own body but he couldn't.
He couldn't.
Not now. No, now the control was in the hands of the thing that stood over him. The foul creature now held his life in its hands, or what little was left. It had stripped away his personhood, leaving him a hollow puppet for devs know what.
It had already taken his need for food, pulling his organs out one by one. Now, judging by the increasing difficulty of breathing, it was going for his lungs.
There was nothing he could do about it. He could not move, not with the strings from which he hung. Even if he could, he knew not the powers of the deer-like being which tormented him.
The demon deer continued to operate inside his hollow chest, cutting and stabbing and slicing. He waited, suspended in midair and absolutely frozen in agony as breathing grew harder and harder. He was now gasping for each breath, aware of the blood flowing through his nearly empty chest.
Then it stopped. His breathing ceased entirely. He tried inhaling, but nothing happened. There was nowhere for it to go. The deer thing held his lungs triumphantly above him, as if parading the further loss of his life force over him. After a brief moment, it placed it in a glimmering shulker, which was in turn placed in a freezer.
While this happened, his panic increased. Before it was a dull awareness overshadowed by a deep detachment from the reality which had forsaken him, but now there was a sharp awareness, a desperate need for air. Instinctually, he continued to attempt to inhale, but it proved feudal.
He needed to breathe.
He couldn't breathe.
This is it. Now it finally ends, he thought to himself.
However, these thoughts of dreams and fears were quelled when the demon deer returned, casting some form of magic which made the burning desire dissipate. No, he still could not breathe, but the burning thirst for air was now entirely gone. He was saved, if one could call it that.
The deer stood, inspecting him carefully. It poked around the gaping cavity. It ceased, picking up a needle and thread, then changed its mind, setting it back down and leaving the room.
Eventually it returned, carrying something Etho could not quite figure out. His eyes had refused to focus far away, not even lending him that control. It approached, setting the bag down on a counter nearby. The deer opened the bag, rolling some of its contents between its fingers. Once it was satisfied, it nodded, walking over to him with a handful.
It peered momentarily into the cavity, then, without remorse, shoved the entirety of the material into the voids in his chest. It was then he released what the material was; it was batting, like that found in stuffed animals. He was being stuffed like a toy.
Etho hung there, still as ever, as the thing continued to stuff him. It finally concluded stitching up the wounds and pouring potions on it until one could almost forget what had happened and what Etho truly was, for he was no longer human. He was a crude replica, a model of skin and bone hiding the cotton interior, except for the heart.
He still had a heart, at least for now.
óÓò
