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starrysavvy · 28 days

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She could feel it. Creeping. Crawling. Sludging through her veins. A poison that she was doomed to live with. Is this living anymore? Was she even alive? She was breathing, yes, heart pumping in her chest, but that was more so in the terms of her body functioning. Moving herself along like transportation for the timebomb inside of her.

Outside of her?

Her bones were visible now, not that anyone noticed, just thinking they were prosthetics. A good and bad thing. People came too close, were too nice, too pitying due to it. Not aware of the danger she was to them. Bad. Good because she wasn’t chased down and cut open. But maybe she should be? Would that help? Or just spread what's inside of her, like spores?

If she’s like this, just herself, it’s fine. She can almost control it as long as she stays calm. But calm is not something she feels often. Before or after, it’s not an emotion she was familiar with. The feeling of eyes upon her, imagined or not, sets her off. People getting too close sets her off. Overthinking sets her off. Her worries are many and spaces she’s safe are few.

Does she deserve to feel safe?

After everything she’s done, intentionally or not, does she deserve to feel safe and comfortable ever again? She’s killed people. Not with her own hands, but they’ve died because of her. In terrible ways, like she did. Or worse. Probably worse. It had to be worse, of course it’s worse.

If she dwells on her guilt too long it bubbles to the surface. Not only her emotions but the… She doesnt know what to call it, but it’s black and slick, oily and thick. Viscous. It smells with a sickly sweetness undercut with a deep earthiness, confusing her and yet it’s so familiar by now. The scent permeates the air whenever she enters a space and only increases as her paranoia grows. Suffocatingly so, at least to her.

It seeps out of the bones, dripping down them and onto the floor. She could clean it up, she has cleaned it up, but… What if someone sees? What if they come over to help? Such kindness only to be rewarded in a foul death. No. If there’s less people, she’ll clean it and then dispose of it with fire. But if there’s a sizable group, too many eyes on her, she leaves it, not wanting to see the face of those that will fall victim to her fear.

She may not have watched any of the deaths, but she knew what happened. It’s innate, an itching at the back of her mind always whispering how each death occurs. It haunts her, the thoughts of those poor people dying like that. It makes her shudder and sick.

All it takes is a single touch and then it’s too late. The walking dead, not infectious but infected. They’ll get sicker, any wounds they receive will instantly become inflamed and hot. A wet cough will settle in their lungs. Their body gives in to it. And then spread it to their surroundings. The coughing is what causes it, sticking to their home and causing the same decay to the structure.

It doesn’t take long.

Their body grows weaker until they can’t move, their house creaking, cracking, and groaning around them until…

It’s not a nice death.

Needless to say, she doesn’t go outside much anymore. At least during the day. She prefers to travel out when it’s quiet and safer for everyone. The night shrouds her, makes her feel almost like herself again, like she’s no longer a threat, just some woman. She dreads the dawn, as beautiful as the array of colors are, the warmth of the sun means she has to return to her home.

Alone. And consumed with the rot.

#the magnus archives oc #drabble #vent?#my writing

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starrysavvy · 4 months

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The morning was silent, the room dark, and Dante was slowly waking up. He sighed and cracked open his eyes, staring up at his cracked ceiling as his mind slowly came back to him. The first thought of the day was, ‘How long will I stay in bed today?’ He asked himself that question seemingly every morning. Well, except for the days that he found himself woken up by the persistent little bites from his rats, forcing him awake to feed them. He considered those days the lesser of two evils, since when they did that, it distracted him from thinking. It allowed him to get through the morning without too much hassle, since he was focused on his precious little friends.

But that didn’t happen today, no he had slowly woken up, and he laid there, waiting for the familiar sense of dread to wash over him. The crushing weight to settle into his chest and sit there like a rock for the rest of the day, weighing him down, reminding him of everything he lost…

The weight didn’t come.

He blinked in confusion and sat up, his chest feeling light and he could breathe easily. What is this? Sitting up, he looked around his room, eyes roaming around. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing was different. Hell, even his bucket was there, not catching water dripping from the ceiling like it’s original purpose, but now just filled with random odds and ends.

Getting out of bed, he saw his rats had decided to sleep all nestled up near his pillow. It was sweet of course, nothing new, but the soothing feeling of fondness for them felt greater this morning. Like it filled him up entirely instead of being crowded out by the familiar gnawing void. It was so strange and yet, it brought upon a sense of nostalgia. He had felt this way before, a long time ago, before everything had happened to him.

It brought a stinging sensation to his eyes as tears filled them. It had been so long since he had felt like this. Felt free. He wasn’t sure of what to do now, really, he was afraid that if he moved from this spot, it would all come crashing down, but… He had to leave. The nagging thought of missing out on experiencing the day while like this.

So he slowly got dressed, still hesitant, but he forced his stiff body to go through the motions. And when he saw his ankles while going to put on his socks… He didn’t tense, his stomach didn’t turn at the sight of the scars that circled around them. Sure, the memories were there, swirling around his head, but the usual response didn’t trigger. He still felt fine and secure.

The realization made him sit there, stock still as he took it in, his eyes never leaving his ankle. Even as his fingers traced the scarring, the tears finally falling from his eyes, the complicated mess of emotions never surfaced. Not once. His rats had come over and climbed on him, checking on him as he silently wept with a soft, delicate smile spreading across his face.

He finally finished getting dressed and ready for the day, feeding his rats and making something simple for himself. And even in that little, mundane meal he found himself happy. Like it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Looking at the small, worn picture of a rainy sky taped to his wall didn’t even make him upset, just thinking of the sound of the rain and the smell it brought in made him almost hoping that it did shower today.

Leaving his room, Dante didn’t feel the same old apprehension, hell, he was excited to see what would happen. Bring on the clowns! He’ll talk to them all, maybe even start a conversation for once, who knows what could happen? So he found himself taking strides down the familiar pathways, eyes flickering around the area at those around him.

They were familiar folk, other Melodies mostly, with a few from other tents sprinkled in. There was Maverick chatting with Barbie, who was rambling animatedly to the other clown. Cherie looks like she’s about to faint at the sight of the fainest amount of blood Dante had ever seen on someone. And there was John, gazing off into the distance, set aside from everyone. While he had been ready to go out and talk to his tent-mates, seeing his friend sitting by himself drew him closer.

He walked up, standing next to the dazed man, and quietly greeted him, “Hello, John, uhm, how is your day going so far? Good, I hope?” A part of Dante was curious, was the same lightness that was happening to him affecting John as well? Was there a kind of magic in the air that brought upon such a change? He hoped so.

His voice snapped John out of it and he quickly looked at him with his wide eyes, still somewhat distant as they focused on him, “Oh! Dante, yes, yes, I’m doing well.” As he came back to himself, shrugging off whatever thoughts that had him so tightly wrapped up in them, he looked over Dante, like there was something he was trying to pinpoint. “Y-You look… chipper today. Must have had a good morning, then?”

“Yes, actually, it’s been really good,” He smiled at him with more light in his eyes than John has ever seen before. It made him squint at him slightly.

“You… You didn’t take Andy up on her offer to get you ‘medicine’ did you?”

Dante’s eyebrows shot up as he let out a surprised laugh, “Wh-what? No! It’s just today has been wonderful so far and it's barely into the afternoon! It’s like something shifted, you haven’t, you know, felt anything change?”

John didn’t look too convinced, but shrugged, the movement causing several bells to jingle, “No, it’s just the same old day. But I’m glad that you’re having a good day!”

Knowing how John can get, he gave him an almost understanding smile, “Yeah, I hope the day brightens for you as well. I’ll see you later, John.”

After leaving John to his own thoughts, Dante walked around the Melody tent, waving and smiling at those he passed. Sure, not too different from what he would normally do, but now he looked them in the eye with an eagerness that seemed to infect them as well. They passed him by, grins wider than they had been and seeing that made Dante feel even better than before.

The feeling lasted, but he did pause in his walk once he saw familiar faces. Andy and… Joro. The sight of them being lovey and sweet with each other usually leaves him with a sour feeling in his stomach and then awash in guilt afterwards for feeling that way. Joro is his ex, he’s moved on with Andy who has decided, for some unknown reason, to hang around and befriend him. It’s complicated and brought up feelings he didn’t want to think about but right now, he didn’t feel them.

It was odd, but not unwelcome; he didn’t think this strange happening would affect all of his negative feelings like this so he was unsure of what to do next. So he just simply stood there, watching as they went about their own walk a fair distance away. Andy happened to glance his way and her toothy grin widened as she waved at him. And he found himself waving back, a pleasant feeling entering his chest as he watched them continue on their way. It was nice.

As the hours passed by in what seemed like no time at all, Dante felt not one ounce of the usual negative emotions, the day went by smoothly with none of the everyday shenanigans causing a disturbance for him. He just gladly watched from the sidelines, even when a couple clowns got into a fight that ended up dragging more people into the fray. After a while, everyone started laughing and stopped fighting and it surprised him. Whenever fights would break out, he would leave before they got too rough, so he never saw the aftermath.

Does this kind of thing happen all the time? Is this the end result of so many fights? He always leaves when a situation sours in some way, the uncomfortable awkwardness would always nag at him until he just slinked away, like his precious little rats would do so often. What else had he missed? Would the things he ran away from end in similar ways? Maybe they did, maybe every rough start to a first meeting, a lull in a conversation, or even…

A prick of unpleasantness made him wince. That’s all it was though, just a little prick somewhere inside his mind, nothing like the overwhelming sensation of dread that would rush through him whenever he thought about how his marriages ended. How he would run and hide from the pain and loneliness he felt.

Ah. That’s what he did, wasn’t it? Ran. Ran from everything and everyone whenever the faintest hint of potential pain would rear its ugly head at him. He would isolate himself and do his damndest to bury those feelings deep inside until all that was let was a dull ache in his chest. And the cycle would start over.

That thought made him almost numb and he wandered among the groups of his tent-mates, his ‘family’, in a daze until night fell. The dark was familiar to him, the dim lighting from several sources of lanterns and colorful fairy lights lit his path as they gradually decreased in number until he was met with a small clearing. It was a popular spot for stargazing, the sky was a wide expanse above him and he sat on the ground a bit with a sigh, laying back to stare with a wide-eyed, uncertain expression.

Dante would usually feel a bit small in comparison to the sky, not only in the literal sense of the word, but also in the figurative sense. Like he was drifting along the cosmos perpetually alone despite being surrounded by others. He couldn't feel their warmth or even understand why they insisted on being around him when he felt so dull next to them.

But, yet again, there was something different tonight. As he stared up at the stars he didn't get the sense of being lost and alone. He just took in the stars. Saw their beauty and the true color of the night sky for what felt like the first time. It wasn’t just a cold and darkened looming presence, but a blanket of vivid hues dotted with twinkling stars. The sight brought to life the warmth he had been getting hints of throughout the day and just like this morning, he felt tears start to sting at his eyes, causing the stars to blur.

He stayed like that for what seemed like hours, just gazing up at the sky until his eyes slipped closed, having been lulled into a sense of calm and serenity he didn't think he had ever felt before. Or at least not a time he remembered. He drifted off into a peaceful sleep in the grass, not caring about if it rained, he just wanted to be in this calm state for as long as he could.

Then his eyes opened, and he found himself staring at his ceiling.

As he laid there, under his blanket and coming to his senses, a growing gnawing feeling dug into his chest. Oh. Oh. It was a dream, wasn’t it? He took a shaky breath and a hand went to his mouth. It was all just a horridly wonderful dream. A dream that tormented him with its sweetness now that he’s awake. The tears were quick to form and he shuddered with a quiet cry, not noticing when his rats started crawling over him, squeaking as they demanded to be fed.

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A written commission I did for @skipperbunnyrabbit ! Featuring their OC Dante (and a few others, @doodle-who , including mine~)

#commission #written commison #story commission #demon clowns #my writing #my art

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