ꕥ 𝔞 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔡𝔬𝔩𝔩 ꕥ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
just_a_doll) wrote2019-09-29 10:53 am
just_a_doll) wrote2019-09-29 10:53 am
Old Nightmares
PSL for hunter_marked_soul
[ Being the product of a lonely old Hunter's obsession and eventual mania paired her with the memories of her likeness. Memories of someone who looks like her; sounds like her, but who's personality is far removed from her own. Even when she felt the proverbial shackles release, the dreams remained; and when she followed the Good Hunter into the waking world, she felt closer to them than ever.
Everything became more vivid, when before, there were only brief flashes and muffled voiced. The blood had stronger scent, a stronger taste; it was intoxicating and empowering. The blade in her hand felt heavy, real and the screams felt close. Too close. She could feel the splash of blood against her cheek, the slimy chunks of skin and viscera that stained her coat sleeves up to her elbows after prying open something hard. Bone, perhaps? Yes, it must have been. And she had been searching for something...
Something to help her see… No, no. To elevate her mind. Eyes to provide insight. But she had yet to find any in all of the slaughter.
The scent of salt and brine is suffocating; the ocean must be close… She sees the face of a pale creature; she can smell her blood and feel her skin. It’s unnatural, scaled and slimy. She holds something in her hands that is so coated in blood that she can’t discern what it is. Somewhere far away, in the background, the distinct sound of weeping can be heard and over it all, a voice calls out in desperation:
Curse the fiends, their children, too... And their children's children, forever, true.
The remorse weights heavily on her chest, the salt and brine makes her nauseous and as the bloodlust fades, and she looks out at the massacre before her, a tear slips down her cheek.
Suddenly, the Doll’s eyes shoot open and a breath catches so abruptly in her throat, it makes her cough. She sits up when she finds that lying flat only makes her feel severely winded, lifting a hand to grasp the fabric of her nightgown at her chest until she can finally breathe again. Once she can breathe again, she lifts her other hand to her face, finding it to be streaked with tears.
The nightmares are getting so much worse and giving her far too much insight into a life she'd never lived, but… what can she do when she is connected to someone and their memories even in death? Therein lies the question of how to move on; how to separate herself from this guilt-ridden Hunter. It's far too late to think too deeply on it, for even as she is a doll, she feels the effects of exhaustion and benefits from a good night's rest.
Unfortunately, she already knows that sleep will not come so easily, now. Sighing softly, she wipes the tears from her face with the end of her sleeve and reluctantly slips out of bed. To the kitchen, then. A cup of tea would help. Food and drink weren’t required for her survival, but… the smell and the warmth had a way of calming her.
She doesn't think about whether or not Nathaniel is awake, but even if she did consider it, well... modesty is something she is still learning. She is only garbed in her night gown; her nightgown that has a wide neck and tends to maintain a constant state of being off one shoulder, revealing the old ball joint and small scattered cracks in her porcelain arm. At least the sleeves are long and wide, and the general length of the garb falls just above her ankles. ]
hunter_marked_soul[ Being the product of a lonely old Hunter's obsession and eventual mania paired her with the memories of her likeness. Memories of someone who looks like her; sounds like her, but who's personality is far removed from her own. Even when she felt the proverbial shackles release, the dreams remained; and when she followed the Good Hunter into the waking world, she felt closer to them than ever.
Everything became more vivid, when before, there were only brief flashes and muffled voiced. The blood had stronger scent, a stronger taste; it was intoxicating and empowering. The blade in her hand felt heavy, real and the screams felt close. Too close. She could feel the splash of blood against her cheek, the slimy chunks of skin and viscera that stained her coat sleeves up to her elbows after prying open something hard. Bone, perhaps? Yes, it must have been. And she had been searching for something...
Something to help her see… No, no. To elevate her mind. Eyes to provide insight. But she had yet to find any in all of the slaughter.
The scent of salt and brine is suffocating; the ocean must be close… She sees the face of a pale creature; she can smell her blood and feel her skin. It’s unnatural, scaled and slimy. She holds something in her hands that is so coated in blood that she can’t discern what it is. Somewhere far away, in the background, the distinct sound of weeping can be heard and over it all, a voice calls out in desperation:
Curse the fiends, their children, too... And their children's children, forever, true.
The remorse weights heavily on her chest, the salt and brine makes her nauseous and as the bloodlust fades, and she looks out at the massacre before her, a tear slips down her cheek.
Suddenly, the Doll’s eyes shoot open and a breath catches so abruptly in her throat, it makes her cough. She sits up when she finds that lying flat only makes her feel severely winded, lifting a hand to grasp the fabric of her nightgown at her chest until she can finally breathe again. Once she can breathe again, she lifts her other hand to her face, finding it to be streaked with tears.
The nightmares are getting so much worse and giving her far too much insight into a life she'd never lived, but… what can she do when she is connected to someone and their memories even in death? Therein lies the question of how to move on; how to separate herself from this guilt-ridden Hunter. It's far too late to think too deeply on it, for even as she is a doll, she feels the effects of exhaustion and benefits from a good night's rest.
Unfortunately, she already knows that sleep will not come so easily, now. Sighing softly, she wipes the tears from her face with the end of her sleeve and reluctantly slips out of bed. To the kitchen, then. A cup of tea would help. Food and drink weren’t required for her survival, but… the smell and the warmth had a way of calming her.
She doesn't think about whether or not Nathaniel is awake, but even if she did consider it, well... modesty is something she is still learning. She is only garbed in her night gown; her nightgown that has a wide neck and tends to maintain a constant state of being off one shoulder, revealing the old ball joint and small scattered cracks in her porcelain arm. At least the sleeves are long and wide, and the general length of the garb falls just above her ankles. ]
no subject
[ Time is strange. Normal time, that is. Normal human time. She's still coming to get used to it, herself. The nights never last long and neither do the days, for that matter. ]
We were lucky to happen upon him.
[ The Doll is still a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to jokes, but his smile earns him one in return. ]
Of course. Though, your strength far exceeds my own-[ In the body of a doll, that is. ]-the need for its use may yet arise. After all, Hunters and gods alike have fallen to a mere blade.
[ She reaches out with one hand, gently stroking his cheek with her knuckle. When she's speaks again, it's slowly and emphatically, even through the usual softness of her voice. ]
I will not have that.
no subject
[Was all the Hunter, Nathanial, said in response to her musing about their host and his family. There was a wry smile with her next few words, eyes closing after a moment with a soft laugh under his breath. Those eyes opened again with her touch against his cheek. Unconsciously leaning into the cool porcelain just as if it were flesh. Pale golden-brown eyes looked to meet her own.]
I am not so fragile as to die completely. Arrogance would be my downfall though, so an abundance of caution and preparation will not be amiss.
no subject
[ Her hand lingers for a moment on his cheek, the way he leans into her touch causing the odd, fleeting feeling of warmth to bloom in the center of her core. It isn't new, but she finds that it happens far more frequently as of late. The way he smiles at her causes it, as can a mere touch, and when he laughs, she feels strangely weak.
Behind the warmth is the tug of yearning, soft and subtle for now, but stronger than it used to be. An emotion she doesn't quite grasp and cannot name. Nonetheless, the smile she returns comes naturally as she holds his gaze. ]
no subject
Then encouraging it away from his cheek as he got to his feet. A second more to hold her hand, a soft squeeze, then he was pulling back.]
It's far too late, or far too early. If you're feeling better, you should return to resting. We both should.
[He did not say sleep--for that was still an ever tricky state of being where he was concerned.]
no subject
I would prefer to remain here. The fire is warm and I'm very much at peace.
[ And not in danger of falling asleep again. She turns her head to look up at him. ]
Rest well, Nathanial.