"What the hell happened to you?"
Wicca looked down to the side and didn't answer him.
Chapter 20
Pain in the Name of Love
-1 month earlier-
The witch whimpered beneath her muzzle. She was lying on a cold, concrete floor surrounded by mold and musk. Her side twitched, and she let out an involuntary cry.
Gaster had remained true to his agreement; he stitched Wicca up and made sure that she hadn't died. Although at the moment, the girl wasn't too happy about it.
The skeleton had purposefully filled every moment of the surgery with pain and anguish. With every incision, every stitch, every staple, he made sure to twist, to drag, to rip just enough to make her scream and buck. Her throat quickly went raw from her guttural cries, and a day later left her ashamed of her weakness. Gaster poked and prodded senselessly until he found her sweet spot. The more she wailed, the more he hurt her to hear the sound.
She didn't want to give him-or his nasty, little assistant-the satisfaction of her torture. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. The only thing she could feel alongside the pain was a deep disappointment and prickling shame.
Now the girl was confined to the small basement owned by the impostor Sans. He would come down occasionally, check on her, feed her, torture her.
She hadn't the strength to fight back, her body felt bruised and battered. And it angered her more than anything.
She was angry that she was stuck in this shitty place, she was angry that she was stuck in this shitty situation, she was angry that she was stuck feeling shitty and weak, she was angry that she was stuck constantly being taken advantage of by shitty people.
So, she decided to do something about it, lying there on the cold, concrete floor withering in pain. She decided that she no longer wanted to be weak, no longer wanted to be at the mercy of others. She decided that she needed to get out, and her anger was the key.
The witch closed her eyes and breathed out. Letting the buzz of her pain fall to the wayside-still present, dancing in the corners of her brain-and breathed in the electricity that permeated the house. The problem with this world was that it hated her. It attacked her on every level, in every sense. It wasn't enough that the people here were corrupted by a strange kick of cruelty, the very air raged against her, as it did now. The energy of this place had broken her fingers, repeatedly; it had stolen the breath from her body and electrocuted her. But now it would free her.
You see, there had to be a reason Wicca ended up in this hell hole, or at the very least, a cause. She had a feeling she knew what it was, and the secret lied in Sans, her Sans. Something happened between both human and monster during that whirlwind of emotion at Grillby's and it had fired up some raw power that spilt a hole in the fabric of spaced, drop-kicking her into this batshit, insane world.
The witch looked at her hands and blackened fingers with a look of resignation. The way back would be painful, but did it matter at this point? She had already thoroughly suffered, surely what she was about to try couldn't be that much worse. Right?
Wicca grit her teeth and pulled. She pulled the heavy, swirling mass that prowled through the dingy air. She pulled the sharp current until it filled her lungs and swam dizzying in her head. She embraced the shocks and jolts, she allowed the pricks of pain and bites of brutality that hit her body. Her hands had already begun to shake, her fingers were already starting to splinter. A short, sickeningly-sweet feeling snaked her way around her spinal cord, slithering up to her brain.
She slowly extended her hands in front of her. Tentatively, with the care of a skittish creature, she reversed the flow and pushed, directing all her energy down and through her hands and out the tips of her fingers.
With an unproportionally small sound for such a horrific action, the bones in her hands exploded through her skin. Her eyes widened, and the sizzling pain hit her at a troubling delay. With a tiny cry, the witch collapsed.