She saunters to meet Fever where she's stumbled, no sense of urgency in her pursuit. Her Bloodthirst's blade meets the paleness of her cheek, catching droplets to be devoured. Savor the sight. Revel in a wretch struck down at long last. At weakness expelled through faulty muscle and flesh and wet, pathetic eyes. Destroy the sum. And take what's yours.
FEVER is a haggard thing at her feet. The sight of her draws a misshapen laugh from Orin's throat.
With a dramatic flourish, she draws knife-edge across her tongue, gustatory memory etched into the folds of her brain forever. What sweet taste.
(Please stop please stop please god fucking stop—)
Tension in the orchestra pit, bowstrings jerking back and forward.
A wet crack as her blade pierces the spot at the back of Fever's skull.
no subject
ORIN does not hesitate.
She does not rush, either.
She saunters to meet Fever where she's stumbled, no sense of urgency in her pursuit. Her Bloodthirst's blade meets the paleness of her cheek, catching droplets to be devoured. Savor the sight. Revel in a wretch struck down at long last. At weakness expelled through faulty muscle and flesh and wet, pathetic eyes. Destroy the sum. And take what's yours.
FEVER is a haggard thing at her feet. The sight of her draws a misshapen laugh from Orin's throat.
With a dramatic flourish, she draws knife-edge across her tongue, gustatory memory etched into the folds of her brain forever. What sweet taste.
(Please stop please stop please god fucking stop—)
Tension in the orchestra pit, bowstrings jerking back and forward.
A wet crack as her blade pierces the spot at the back of Fever's skull.
The final blow.