Synopsis: What if inanimate objects had a voice? What if they thought and felt things just as we do? A one shot collection recording the deaths of the main Until Dawn characters from the perspectives of their beloved possessions.

Genre: Angst, Horror

Ending: No one survives

Rating: T

A/N: It's been a while, sorry! I needed a break from Chrashley cuteness and so I decided to write something morbid again. How nice! A bit of an obscure object, this one. Enjoy!


Her lips taste of practiced smiles. The flavour is distinct; like sandpaper, salt and cherries. Like the fragile, rubbery skin of cranberries – it would be effortless to pierce through them, to make them fall apart.

That's what I'm here for. To protect them. To cover them.

To pretend they don't exist.

My packaging promised 'The perfect sparkle for any outfit'. And, of course that's true. I pride myself in my sparkling abilities. But they'd branded me with such a generic name, filtering in some word like shimmer or shine just because. Boring.

But she'd rejuvenated me. She'd re-named me her 'emergency lifesaver'. Her sidekick. In any emergency, she'd whip me out of her purse, dab me across her lips and we'd be ready to conquer anything. By anything, I mean selfies. I'm a master at the duck face.

Do you know how refreshing it is to get out of laboratories and cosmetic stores? I'm still convinced I smell like chemicals. Chemicals have a weird property that they like to cling to the plastic of lip gloss. Attractive. Great for me.

But she didn't mind. The popping feeling when she pulled my lid off was ridiculously satisfying. Her lips were sweet. And the fresh air was delicious!

But it felt a whole lot different to the air of a cold, mountain top.

There, I experienced her every feeling. Her every dancing breath.

I felt every flirtatious smile, every playful laugh, every bitter word. I moulded to them, to the shape of her lips. Her attraction to him was tangible. Her lips always quirked up when she saw him, like an instant reaction. I could feel her flirtation vibrating in every word.

And I tasted the sweetness of her kisses, the ones she shared with him. And the secret words she'd only ever let me feel. The ones that whispered of vulnerability and insecurities. The reasons she had me in the first place.

The reasons she was willing to share with him.

And now I can feel the ripping of his name from her lungs. Her screams, crying out for him.

And I'm shaking. Quivering.

And I want to shield her. I want to save her.

I want to be her lifesaver. Her sidekick.

I want to prove my names.

But I can't.I can't save her from this.

Her breaths are heavy. Heavy, choking breaths. They taste like fear. Like sticky, quivering fear.

I'm clinging to the last shred of skin on her lips. They're dry. They're scared.

They can't hold fake smiles anymore.

And I can't protect them.

The fingers – the bony, rotting fingers – slice into her mouth. Pain drips down like blood. Nails dig into her gums. I can feel them. I can feel her screams bubbling, vibrating. Dying.

I can feel the rotting skin pressed against me, pressed against her lips. It feels like maggots. It smells like death. Oh, what I'd trade to smell the chemicals of a laboratory again.

The claw rips her jaw from her bones. I can feel the crack. I can feel her pain. It tears me in half, just like it tears her lips apart.

And she tumbles. She falls, cracking her back on a cold, sharp, elevator floor. Her breath snaps off like a twig. Like it weighed nothing at all.

I can hear his raw cries, yelling her name. But they're distant. I'm smothered by blood. By the feeling of cold, dead skin.

She's gone. Her lips are gone. Her smiles are gone.

And I'm nothing.

I'm worthless.