Warning: will probably seem rushed and you're a psycho b*tch. Deal with it :D
━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━
masks pt.1
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━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━
Clink.
The sound of shackles crashing into each other and metal grating on metal. The taste of blood in her mouth and the sensation of her bones snapping, teeth grinding, and flesh ripping. Was it her blood that painted her hands, feet, and face crimson? She didn't know. All she knew were her masks and the bars.
Clank.
She saw the heavy metal door slam shut, engulfing her in darkness. The only light that reached her poor, murderous soul was from a tiny slit in the iron. A tiny slit and that was her only exit from the place. That is, if she could escape her confinements.
Hiss.
Week one, the interrogation started. They removed her muzzle and the thick metal bands restraining her torso and those things by her sides they called limbs. They peeled the fabric off her eyes and slid the straitjacket off her thin, malnourished frame. She looked weak, tired, and barely alive. But they knew better. They knew what she was capable of.
Slice.
Week two, the torture began. They were foolish; they'd forgotten they'd taken out her voice box long before her capture. They resorted to writing, but they had broken her fingers. They tried gestures, but her arms were crippled. Nothing worked; she was nothing but a faceless creature trapped within a human husk of a body.
Snap.
Week three, the rot started to set in. They left her for dead, alone in that metal box of hers. Strapped to the wall, blinded, muted, and starved. When was the last time she saw light? When was the last time she ate? Countless questions ran through her head, but they were eventually lost to the darkness inside her head.
When was the last time she breathed? She had lost count.
Crack.
Week four, the insanity crept in. It was hard being isolated from everyone else, starved, dehydrated, crippled and forgotten. She craved human contact. She desired the feeling of blood on her skin and a blade in her hands. She wished to move her arms freely again, to be able to run her fingers through sliced open bodies and rip out their still-beating hearts. But she had none of that. They had taken it from her.
And she vowed to get it back.
She still remembered the look of terror on their faces when they saw her standing in their doorway, her joints dislocated from her escape. Her muzzle and the cloth around her eyes were still intact, having been stitched into her skin. She remembered their white faces and bloodred lips as they watched her every move. Watched as she reached up and ripped the cloth off her eyes in a shower of blood.
And then the screaming began.
They screamed, begged, threatened. They tried shooting her and chaining her again. But it didn't work. It didn't stop her from cracking their skulls open and stabbing them down the middle.
The pain no longer hurt her. It reminded her she was alive.
And now she was going to do all the things the living did, even if it meant stealing their lives away in the process. But first, she had to escape.
₩̸̺̰̹̺͗̈́̾̌́̔̌̾ͅ₳̴̛͇̭̦̺̗͙͚̏̉̃̓̄͘₮̸̨͍̰̬̬̀͌͛₵̷̧̛̼͈͓̞̖͛̿̂̈́̽̈̀͠͝Ⱨ̵͙̇͒̀͆̂̀͒͒̇ ̴̡̝͕͈̺̹̲̙͕̎͌Ø̴̩͉̾̓̕͜Ʉ̶̺͉̅̅͛̄̾̚₮̶͓̱̟͇̤̠̯̱̞̒̿̊̇̆͋̍,̵̛̜̄̈́̉̾͒̿͛͠ ̸̛͇̩̤͔͂͛̄̀̄͒̀̉ͅł̶̫̂̈́'̴͎͍̻͗₥̵̥͗͐̽͋ ̸̰͚̥͍̿̇͜͠₦̴̮͔͖̱̔Ø̶̰͎̹͇̼̗̈̈̿₮̵̛͖͖̤̒͛͠͝͝ ̶̰̭̹̬̺̪͖̓̇͒̏͛͝Đ̶̡͕̭̲̑̈́̋̿̐̈́͂͜Ɇ̶͉͇͓̒̆̏̌̔̉̆͊̕₳̸͖͚̝̔̂̀͝Đ̷̢̰̖̹̠̇̃̐͌̚͘ ̸̢̣̣͇͚̭̬̯̞̈̒͐̿̅₳̵̖͎̟̱̯̤̍̊͆͐̿̃₦̶̗̙̤͉̦̤̯̣͓̟͛̎̽̅͊̅͋̕̕Ɏ̴̩̲̜͎͖̯̈́̂͂͘₥̷͎͎̝̈́̏Ø̵͉̓͒̋́̆͠Ɽ̴͖͇͉̲̆̔͋̕͘͝Ɇ̵̢̢͚̲̗̜̺̫̮͆̓̀͐͋͆̚͝͝ͅ.̴̧̭̮̖̤̳͈͍̗͐̔̈́̈́̈͝͝
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Limerence ❀ Yandere!Males x Reader
RomanceFortuna Institute, an esteemed elite school located in present-day Manchester, England. Beautiful, breath-taking, and filled with history, no one could've imagined anything remotely wrong happening in such a revered school. Fortuna is known for prod...
