Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
DEAD MEN CAN'T RAPE !
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
( You stole me. You stole all of me and left me to crawl soulless. I can purge your pulse and purloin your skin but i can't turn back the time. I will forever be stained in your sin. Death by inequitable justice. )
!!!! — hey loves, it's me again & i've got another warning for you. GRAPHIC violence. If you can't stomach it, i'd merely advise you leave now because this book centres on gore ( blood-shed in the title should've given it away ).
+ mentions of past rape.
—BEFORE CIRCE COULD UNLEASH vengeance, she needed to heal the wounds scattered across her body, and thus with a bottle of muggle whiskey she'd stolen from one of her roommates drawer, she made way to the prefects bathroom. Hogwarts wasn't as special as society would like to make it out to be; the enchantments and spells were weak, easily breakable, and the passwords were simple to manoeuvre around. So the girl suffered little struggle as she broke into the area ( using a flimsy chant she'd been taught at Praesidium ).
The inside of the room deemed to be captivating, with endless walls of aureate marble and water structures that descended into a large tub of clear blue. As she propped the whiskey onto the cold, stoned floor, the room worked around her, beginning to produce bubbles of resplendent cerulean. Inside her pockets she'd swiped medical supplies from minuscule health kits and her shared bathroom cupboard, and whilst they weren't perfect, they would have to do. Circe was just glad she hadn't been jostled into a room of pure-blooded supremacists, otherwise she would've been left to bleed and scar roughly.
The spells Avery had used to spoil her skin were adamantine to magic, and so she was back to the basics. Undressing herself down to underwear, she couldn't bite back the past and how hours ago, she'd been used like a meritless doll. Whatever, she thought, whatever whatever whatever. Then, casting a simple spell that muted the room, she got ready to feel desperate anguish.
Sitting on her thigh was a deep laceration that ploughed through her flesh, and whilst it'd been somewhat contained by her tight bottoms before, it was now crying fresh, metallic red down her contused legs. It hurt, throbbing and twinging, but she knew in a moment the pain would be so unbearable. If there was a spell out there to numb affliction, she would've chanted it hours ago, albeit Praesidium hadn't revealed it in her years there — which she knew was a spiteful act, because they enjoyed watching their puppets recoil and shake, it reminded them that they were human, and always replaceable.
