[ the active heat is no more, but what remains of it has scorched a great amount of makima's body to the point that she still feels it burn to the core of her very bones (some places which have been reached). the clothes she still had were either charred, melted against wet, boiled pieces of flesh or only feeble crisps hanging from her catastrophic burns. her blood flows in the way tiny pieces of confetti and stardust would— not exactly pooling or liquid, but multicolored and reaching wherever she set foot on.
it seeps from every pore and orifice of the devil's body, making her dark like blueberries and shimmering like party decorations. makima can feel herself wanting to raise her brows, but she may not have too much of them left. a half-lipless face contorts into a smile but deep within her . . .
she is disappointed. it has ended so soon, and has ended in such a way she finds herself dissatisfied with, even if she did come in to win and set a collar to the beast's neck. now, her dog is dead, and before long she too tumbles into a puddle like mercury and glitter. she can barely breathe. her lungs— liquiefied. there is nothing to make this better. there is no contract to take this pain and suffering away. there are no pawns to transfer her death to.
it was . . . beautiful. in her nebulous memory of who she was and where she came from— she feels something. she reveres this moment. she has never felt it quite so willingly. the last time . . .
(was there a last time?)
she was so weak she let it happen.
now this— this, she hopes to see again, with her strength at its highest, when there is nothing wrong about her. she will think this upon her healing bedrest, but until then— she pulls something from within her that makes her nearly vacant ruby eyes twitch. she garbles and drowns, but she reaches out:
a wrap...... :)
it seeps from every pore and orifice of the devil's body, making her dark like blueberries and shimmering like party decorations. makima can feel herself wanting to raise her brows, but she may not have too much of them left. a half-lipless face contorts into a smile but deep within her . . .
she is disappointed. it has ended so soon, and has ended in such a way she finds herself dissatisfied with, even if she did come in to win and set a collar to the beast's neck. now, her dog is dead, and before long she too tumbles into a puddle like mercury and glitter. she can barely breathe. her lungs— liquiefied. there is nothing to make this better. there is no contract to take this pain and suffering away. there are no pawns to transfer her death to.
it was . . . beautiful. in her nebulous memory of who she was and where she came from— she feels something. she reveres this moment. she has never felt it quite so willingly. the last time . . .
(was there a last time?)
she was so weak she let it happen.
now this— this, she hopes to see again, with her strength at its highest, when there is nothing wrong about her. she will think this upon her healing bedrest, but until then— she pulls something from within her that makes her nearly vacant ruby eyes twitch. she garbles and drowns, but she reaches out: