Warning for self-harm in this one. Whilst it's not awfully graphic, I just thought I'd put it out there for the more sensitive readers.
The first half is set during the war, at some point in the 1890s, roundabout. The second half is set just a few months before 'Who Said Life was Easy?'
Mya2015: Glad you're liking it :)
Colours Within
The Sanctuary corridors didn't hold much that could be called appealing to the eye, but Erskine found the blank grey walls to be quite relaxing. There was no blood on them, and he'd made a game out of picking out imperfections in the plaster as he walked the winding way to Cryptic's room. He'd just got back from a mission tailing some of Mevolent's men, and knowing the young cryptid, they'd probably been anxiously waiting for their pack to return.
Once at the door to Cryptic's room, he knocked and waited a moment before entering.
"Cryptic? Are you-?"
Erskine's blood ran cold.
Cryptic was sat on the desk, a knife in one hand, the other slowly bleeding from a long, clean gash on the palm. Thick, dark red blood oozed form the cut and dripped into the floor, and a clean line of the liquid stained the edge of the blade.
"Hello, Erskine," Cryptic greeted nonchalantly.
"C-Cryptic," Erskine choked, feeling lightheaded and instinctively gripping the doorframe for support. Stomach-churning, heart-wrenching visions of blood, a razor and a young woman crying her eyes out flashed through his mind, and he felt the urge to vomit and break down into tears rising in his chest. "What… why did you..?"
Muted confusion glinted in Cryptic's eyes and they looked at the blood pouring through their hand. "I wanted to see what it looked like," they said, the barest hint of shame lacing their tone. "Humans bleed red, but I'm not human, so I got curious."
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear away the horror and despair, Erskine walked over to Cryptic and carefully took the knife out of their hand. "That's the only reason?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Okay… Listen… promise you won't do that again. It doesn't matter what your reason is; don't do it."
The confusion turned to worry; possibly bordering on fear; but they nodded in consent anyway. "I… okay. I promise."
Thank you.
"How many of these were your doing?" Clarity asked quietly as they carefully unwrapped the bandages to reveal crisscrossing cuts on Erskine's arms. Vile words such as 'slut', 'traitor' and 'whore' could be seen carved into the skin, and the whole mess of abrasions were raised, red and raw. The sight alone disgusted the cryptid.
"The first few," Erskine whispered shamefully. "Then everyone started doing it for me."
"Oh. Listen… Promise me you won't go back to that?"
"Okay. I-I promise."