Cradles | Alastor Angst

11

Soooo uhhh... it's been a while.

TW:

- Gore
- OOC
- HC/AU

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Nobody's POV

'What do you mean by that? I don't think you're up for a teleport back to the hotel, but we can try-'

'No, like, I don't want to exist anymore.'

Rosie paused, then looked at the deer demon, worry in her eyes. She looked so small. So unlike herself. Where was the egotistical overlord she had fallen for all those years ago?

No matter. She needed her now, and Rosie was going to be there. Unrequited feelings aside.

'Can I touch you?'

Alastor nodded. Rosie scooted onto the softly coloured bed, wrapping her thin arms around her trembling friend and gently rubbing her furry back. 'Can you tell me what happened, or is happening, to make to feel that way?'

Alastor took a shaky breath, leaning onto her. 'I-I don't know. I just feel so tired, all the time. I don't want to have to do this anymore. It's just so hard.'

'Oh darling,' Rosie pulled her close, 'it'll get better, I promise.'

'But what if it doesn't?'

'Well then... we'll get through it. Together. Do you want to stay for a few more days?'

'It's okay. I'll head back tomorrow.'

'...If you say so. Do you mind if I take a look at that now?' She gestured to her stomach. Alastor shivered, drawing her legs into her chest. Every movement felt like fire was eating at her insides, like someone was peeling off her skin and rubbing salt into her flesh. She was hesitant to agree, but Rosie had already firmly taken the space in her mind that said 'Safe'  over the years. And she wanted the pain to go away.

But there was something different about the slash wound. Something other. She had had her fair share of wounds and scrapes over the years, and a good few had gotten infected. But they had red rims, slightly risen and hot. Sometimes yellow pus would ooze out from inside, sometimes red capillaries would spiderweb out from the wound.

But this was different. Instead of red, this was black. The edges were a dark ashy grey, the texture rough like scales, black residue dusting over your fingers when you touched it. The edges were slightly raised, and the depth of the wound allowed the person spectating to see deep into it. 

The insides were dark, flaking away and boiling to the touch. The whole thing was oozing some sort of black liquid, thick veins filled with the same stuff branching out from the source. The entire thing reeked of rotting flesh, iron, and something that could only be described as angelic, making her whole stomach feel cold. The noticeable heat of the wound didn't seem to affect her. The sense of nausea she felt at the situation far overruled the warmth.

But the strangest part was the large lumps appearing around it. They ranged from golf ball size to ping pong, and they moved. She could sometimes see faint flickering through the dark skin over them, which seemed to be getting thinner by the day. 

It made her stomach do flips, nausea rippling through her body, along with a cold sense of fear. The claw marks across them were clearly visible, although she never managed to break through the hard, scaly skin. The cut was huge, spanning from just below his left ribs to his right hip.

But Rosie was desensitized to all of that. She had been in hell for almost double the time she  had been, and she was a cannibal. So surely she had seen worse, right?