Title: Psyche
Rating/Warnings: T
Word Count: 473
Character(s): Maka Albarn, Crona
Pairing(s): You might be able to see some shippy Maka/Crona, but it wasn't my intention.
Summary: Crona's got a mind full of holes, you see.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: I saw a picture over on tumblr and it really inspired this. I know it's short but whatever.
You have a mind full of holes and if you're not careful, you'll fall in.
You know the feeling of limbs moving on their own and slicing through things like earth and flesh and bone. They all feel different, too. Ragnarok tells you that when he cuts through earth it feels like he's being submerged in something powerful, something strong. Flesh and bone make him feel invincible. But to you, cutting through the soft skin of someone's throat, or taking someone's head clean off make you feel wrong and strange. It doesn't fill you with a euphoric feeling or anything of the sort.
You hear words in your head. Things you might remember if you tried hard enough. Words and sounds like—
"Please, please no—I'll give you anything, I promise—"
"Take him instead, okay! He's—he killed a kid last week, god what the fuck are you!"
"—barn, Scythe Meister—"
"—go back in that room of yours? With the doors shut tight—"
"Will you be my friend, Crona?"
You'd love to, you really, really would.
Maka will touch your cheek and hug you close and you wonder if she can smell the death and rot on you. Can she see the impurity on you? The hatred and violence you've caused?
Probably not. If she could, you'd likely be dead, now wouldn't you?"
When you fight alongside Maka and her friends with Ragnarok's skinny blade in your hand, all you want to do is kill. Sometime you don't even think it's the black blood that makes you want to do it now. Maybe you've done it for so long that it's second nature. You don't know and you're not sure you care.
A bit in front of you, Maka hits a wall with enough force for bricks to fall loose, and is she hurt? Is she okay? You'll—you will kill the witch that did that yes—
Snap, snap, snap, Ragnarok sings as you break bones in the witch, snap, snap, snap, he laughs or maybe you do.
One day you really will snap. The holes in your mind will open wider and swallow your conscious self whole. Even now, you're forgetting things. Simple things, like what you had for breakfast or what Black Star said yesterday but you don't remember the things embedded into your skull, like where to stab a man in the back that it pierces heart and lungs simultaneously, or where certain arteries are. Ones that bleed a lot.
I'm sorry, you tell Maka one day, and you clench your fists tight so she doesn't see the shaking. Because all you want to do is stabstabstabstabstab her in her stupid fucking head—
I'm going to break soon, you tell Maka through clenched teeth, and you think she knows better now. Knows that you're beyond fixing. And her magic wavelength can only save one person at a time. And you would never ask her to leave Soul. Never ever.
I won't let you break, she tells you fiercely, and you want to believe that she's telling the truth.
Black Blood will repair any wound, Madam Medusa told you, but it won't close those holes.