in sickness and in death (totcf)

tea parties and illusions

For the first part of this chapter I'm putting a trigger warning for blood and dead bodies and stuff. If you are uncomfortable with those things, stop reading at [TW] and continue at [End of TW].

~~~

"I'll open it." On told Beacrox before she ran forward to hold open Cale's door for him. Beacrox rolled the trolly, carrying a bowl of water and towels for the unconscious redhead.

[TW: Descriptions of blood, gore, panic attack, and death?]

The first thing the two noticed was the smell of blood in the air. Which, by the way, shouldn't have been possible for them to ignore because of their assassin and cat senses.

The fact that they only smelled blood when they entered the room was a warning in and of itself.

But that is for their future selves to question and their present selves to ignore.

On darted forward, her lovely shoes almost making her trip, but stopped because of two factors that include Beacrox's hand on her eyes and the desire to not ruin her shoes.

"Illusion..." she hears the chef mumble. "Like on the mountain," he added more quietly.

On couldn't see his face, but she knew Beacrox's face was just as precarious as hers. She slowly took a step back because the r̶e̶a̶l̶,̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶,̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ blood was starting to wet her lovely shoes.

C̶a̶l̶e̶ ̶b̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶a̶ ̶f̶e̶w̶ ̶m̶o̶n̶t̶h̶s̶ ̶b̶a̶c̶k̶.̶ ̶P̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶ ̶l̶i̶l̶a̶c̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶e̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶w̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶h̶o̶m̶e̶.̶ ̶T̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶f̶y̶ ̶s̶l̶i̶p̶p̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶s̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶,̶ ̶i̶t̶s̶ ̶d̶e̶s̶i̶g̶n̶ ̶m̶a̶t̶c̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶l̶y̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶C̶a̶l̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶h̶o̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶e̶s̶.̶ ̶T̶̶̶h̶̶̶e̶y̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶g̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶s̶l̶i̶p̶p̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶,̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶b̶a̶t̶t̶l̶e̶,̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶w̶a̶r̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶l̶i̶f̶e̶ ̶e̶n̶d̶a̶n̶g̶e̶r̶e̶d̶.̶ ̶O̶n̶ ̶c̶h̶e̶r̶i̶s̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶s̶e̶ ̶m̶o̶m̶e̶n̶t̶s̶.̶ ̶

B̶u̶t̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶a̶l̶r̶e̶a̶d̶y̶ ̶r̶u̶i̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶e̶s̶.̶

Beacrox then swiftly but gently pushed her out of the door with his hand, never leaving her eyes.

The smell of blood was gone just as quickly as it had come. They were now in the hallway in front of the room w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶C̶a̶l̶e̶ ̶s̶p̶e̶n̶d̶s̶ ̶m̶o̶s̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶ ̶u̶n̶c̶o̶n̶s̶c̶i̶o̶u̶s̶ and there wasn't a single hint that anything was wrong or awry.

But her heart was squeezing painfully. Her fingers were twitching as her finger nails started to grow out into claws. Her eyes felt like a thousand raging fires waiting to burst. Her throat felt hot, cold, and contracted at the same time. She tried to control the surge of emotions rising within her, but it was like trying to contain a wildfire with her bare hands. She tried to calm herself down.

Beacrox finally took his hand away from her eyes, but the damage had already been done.

On would never be able to forget the smell of blood as she entered the room. She would never forget the wet, sticky, and so sickeningly warm liquid lapping at the edges of her shoes like they wanted to consume her. She'd never be able to forget the cold-blooded sight of her father's pale neck hanging erroneously from the rope that was impeccably wrapped around the chandelier. Would never forget the dark liquid dripping from his lips and pale neck, polling around his collarbone before dripping down in the chilling puddle on the floor. The horror of that moment would forever stay etched in her memory, haunting her dreams and waking hours alike.