Cold Rot
I – first blood
Her hair slides through his fingers like spun gold—but dulled, drab. It's slicked over the depressions of her temple and the heat of her white scalp as two strands escape from the smoothed style. Larxene is alive, he decides. Her sparks and jolts singe his lips and tell him how badly she wants to live, to have fresh blood beat her heart and fill her flesh. Her passion is unmatched and her servitude holds no price.
Marluxia loves this.
He longs to touch the very real bone under her skin, to break the cartilage and inspect her further—he wants to know all of her. He wants to control her whole existence and she can only comply. Her salvation lies in him, he promised her a heart he promised a heart a living beating throbbing
II – unmistaken
He watches a white skirt and knobby legs that are not Larxene's and she notices.
Interested in witches, she seethes into his ear, gripping his hair as electricity flows into his pores. Unfazed, he twists her coat down so she's sprawled on him with his mouth on her throat. She gasps, surprised and aggravated and oh-so-turned-on as that little bitch watches.
Only for now, he kisses his reply into her lips.
IV – purge
Scream.
She wants to scream and she can't. Her ears echo the sounds of that white room and Namine's blood and Marluxia's filthy sweat and southernmost ache. Nausea thrashes in her stomach and she is tempted to puke out her rage with words and bile but she swallows it and clutches her hair.
Why would he pick her? Her mind cries as she breathes out a disheartening and strangled sound. Her hands knot her hair and yank at her skin and nails and oh how she wants to feel a pain so deep she'll bleed like the first time she was fucked.
I need him.
She'll never have him.
V – fresh breasts
She bleeds heavily, hemorrhaging all over his hands and skin. Her smell is smeared all over the cold floor and he loves it.
As he rapes her being, her world, her paper dress soaks up her dark ink and becomes beautiful like a romanticized river of virginity. She's quiet, almost dead and perfect for him. You love me, he breathes his poison into her lungs and she doesn't notice. Larxene and her white, gorgeous skin and bones are thrown away.
--For now.
VI – naked blood
She's pushed out his affair and has trapped him between her thighs, swallowing him whole and scratching out that little witches smell with her dead nails. She will not have him—ever. Larxene pushes his flushed face deeper into the pillow, fisting his hair and moaning into his surface.
Bleed me dry, she hisses.
Of course he does.
VII – weakened
Namine's eyes do not fail to taunt Larxene; her skin does not fail to tempt Larxene and her lips do to not fail to anger her.
Stop it, she cried in shrill rage while yanking Namine's roots from her quaint chair by her hair. The little depleted shell of a girl slowly grips the vinyl of her coat above her sex and shudders.
That's what I said to him, her eyes sob and Larxene stumbles away and rocks herself on the once bloodied floor. Namine crumbles at her back and chokes on herself while blubbering stupidly.
It's not true she wanted it she wanted it that little whore wanted this—
Larxene now wants to cry because Marluxia's been lying to her all this time.
VIII – recant
Muffled howls replay in the halls. Electricity that once was there and now isn't thrives as a ghost crackling cynically in each shadow. Even the harlot's flames have dimmed to a somber ember glow.
Inescapable darkness has swallowed a nymphet that was surging with impulsive power. A boy was tied to her death and they all knew his name and they knew the fate that would befall them all eventually.
The witch in white feels even more naked, alone as Marluxia weeps over her slight body with words that imagined her as the woman with thunder-skull hair and sallow skin and disease angered eyes. He's gentle with her now, rasping each of those poisonous syllables in her ears and mouth as he despoils her.
Larxene, you volatile bitch, where have you gone?
IX – thunder skull
Her crumpled body had been redeemed by Roxas' other, Sora. He swooped in like a savior and banished a parasite from her vitals. Not one remorseful thought crossed her mind for the traitor and his heresy—his place was in darkness, deep below the levels of hell.
Namine's stomach twisted at the thought of Roxas who had been the light, a dying hope in her world and when she saw him; her breathing had stopped.
Where had her butterflies gone—where was the blood that should've been flushing her cheeks as it once was when they were together. (her blood was back at the castle, on the floor, on Marluxia's hands and on her lips)
Then she knew that she only wanted those enraged eyes and that thunder skull brilliance and not a prince without her blood. (or her heart)
"I'm sorry."
-
an // mmyes. marluxia larxene namine triangle of awesomeness. 3