I'm ripped from the abyss of unconsciousness by a searing pain in my mouth. As my vision swims into focus I see a child's face take shape. Black and white blurs across my vision but refuse to coalesce. But I know who it is. There isn't another person it could be. I try to say his name but my lips won't form the words, too much blood and saliva rolling about inside my mouth still. Some of it trickles back and triggers my gag reflex. My chest is wracked with jerking spasms as I cough, spraying a mist of blood into the air. "How disgraceful!" Tommy's still child like voice rings out. What feels like a foot is wedged underneath me and I'm flipped onto my belly. The wet shiver wheeze as I struggle to inhale. I can feel my lungs rattle in my chest, feel the damp air leave, feel the almost purring sensation at the end of my exhale, the soft drone petering out before I allow myself a new breath. I'm a broken wind-up toy; my gears and cogs twitching and jittering uselessly.
"Poor Father," he clucks down to me, "having to rely on such a pitiful creature. Do try not to die before you've served your purpose." I lay on the floor like a fish scooped from a lake, uselessly gasping for air that will not come.
"Come now you're embarrassing yourself and, more importantly, you're embarrassing Father. Pull yourself together," he chides, amusement clear in his voice. I can picture him clearly, tall frame (for his age) standing over me, back bent just the smallest bit to loom even more effectively; a trait no doubt learned from his mother. I could just picture his hair, glossy and fine, black as the back of an open throat, his side part coming loose to fall roguishly over his left eye. His petal pink lips stretched into a devious smile. His eyes narrowed just the tinniest bit. His white fingers, not quite as long or arachnid like, would be tipped with blood, drying thick and sticky on the dainty ends, caked thinly beneath his neatly trimmed nails.
"Whatever could you be waiting for? Show a little respect for your betters!" he snipped down to me, his temper beginning to flare. Let it never be said that my lord's son was a patient child. Why should he show patients to such a lowly worm rise you pervert and do your duty greet my son with the respect he is owed yes my son my perfect boy could hardly have imagined better shrewd and calculating and loyal and burning bright with righteous hate. As I listen to my lord's rambles I manage to pull my arms under me, force myself onto my hands and knees.
I turn to face Tommy, almost slipping in the small puddle of my blood and spit. I can feel it coat my hands as it does the inside of my mouth. It's viscous and nauseatingly warm someday you'll drown in it and on that day I know it will have been worth it for the rewards I have been promised.
One again I find myself kneeling before this corrupted princeling, this vision of perfect boyhood which conceals a warped and writhing poison at its core. I keep my head bowed, my eyes only able to see the hem of his robes and trousers, the dull shine of his shoes. I dare not set eyes on his face without permission now. But to my astonishment his knees fold neatly beneath him. His cool hands, as beautiful and blood tipped as I had imagined them to be, wrap around my face like devil's snare and tilt my head up until our eyes meet.
Instantly I am captivated by him once again. He's smiling gently down at me, as if he's looking fondly at a mischievous pet. His jewel black eyes are half lidded and his silken hair does indeed fall from its part to cover one eye just as I had thought it would. How could this creature born of every fantasy made flesh be bad? How could these soft hands ever wound or hurt? How could death threats and vitriol as thick and hot as molten rock fall from so perfect a mouth? How could eyes so fathomless and beautiful be allowed to look upon a less than perfect vista? I must be blessed by gods above to be privy to such a sight; to be touched by him and not burn to ash from my unworthiness.
"Open your mouth," he says softly, the words falling like pearls from his lips. Oh to do so would be my greatest pleasure. Your wish is my command, young prince. My jaw falls open and I feel the blood dribble past my lips, down my chin, pit pat onto the floor. Viper fast those sculpted hands snake into my mouth; red and white fingers jam something into the empty, freshly mutilated socket in my gum.
I shriek and rear back, nearly choke on what he shoved into my mouth. I spit it out, watching as my own tooth click clack skitters across the floor.
"How rude! I'm only returning what you lost," he laughs gaily. "Father, this disgusting wretch may be the most thankless man I've ever met."
What a fine boy my Severus has raised so clever so quick so manipulative aren't you just the luckiest pervert to be graced by his touch my perfect son my wonderful clever boy. There's a correctness to seeing him like this: laughing heartily among the drops of blood and the dull gleam of a lone knife. Really, it suits him more than any scene I could have imagined. Maybe I'm not that creative, or maybe I'm too optimistic.
I kneel with my hand pressed to my cheek and my mouth open, dribbling blood as I listen to Tommy's laughter and my master babbling, trying to convince myself it'll all be worth it in the end. I'll wash my face and magic away the blood on the floor and tomorrow will be easier to endure.
It's Rainbow's notes again down here sorry! Yeah I know that was really weird but I wanted to shove that not exactly a wet dream in where he goes unconscious because I like to mess with the reader a little? I think it sort of simulates the in over your head confusion to the madness I'm going for. Then he gets woken up from that by Tommy pulling his tooth out. This is the only linear part I guess.
Side note: How good is Bloodborne? Best game in ten years from game mechanics to art to lore to music. Tens all across the board. I have the platinum achievement trophy :)