Entry Three: These People Are Definitely At Fault For Something.
You stand before me, clutching your pretty little rosary tightly in your hand, and you look at me with your wide, wide eyes, and you dare to be afraid of me. You dare to be afraid of the soul you destroyed so completely and utterly that it has no chance of ever returning to any semblance of being intact in the way it was before you came along.
You dare to fear me, even when I'm like this, wrapped up useless, wrapped up tight, separated from you by a barrier of impenetrable glass. Can you see me, or do you only see the straitjacket, the blood staining through layers of bandage, the word lunatic that's been branded over me as invisibly and surely as a witchmark?
You were never that religious before me, Valkyrie, and you sure as Hell weren't when you were with me. I find that an amusement, somehow, as I watch your fingers twitch and convulse over the beads. I'm not sure why that image is so very perfect, though, because coherence is dancing away from me. I'm starving, and unless the sadistic nurses troop in with their intravenous drips and their sugar-water soon, I'm going to pass out. Not like it'll make much of a difference. I'm barely awake as it is.
The sound has long drained away from me in this silence, and my eyes are blurring into vagueness and you look like an angel in the light, poised and posed on the edge of heaven's boundaries, ready and waiting for your fall.
Here they are, the empty people with the white coats. Their surgical masks and the immaculacy of their clothing makes them look like the Faceless Ones themselves, empty and horrible and ready to hurt. There's a hint of sympathy in your eyes as they remove the gag from my mouth, ask me how I am. I must look too weak to pose any real threat.
I don't need your sympathy. Give me your fear, Valkyrie, give me your anger and your suffering, because I am in no position at all to deal with your pity. Not now, not ever.
I bite at the white-clothed arm nearest to me, and the gag is back on, and there's the familiar needle, and it's going into me—Faceless Ones—and the world goes sedative-blurry.
Yay.
A/N: I really enjoy this voice of Clarabelle's.
~Mademise Morte, September 11, 2011.