Two in one day? What has possessed me to do such a thing? An intense mixture of guilt and boredom. Please enjoy.
"Early to bed, early to rise, V!" a sinister voice shouted, waking Virgil with a start. The younger trait flinched as the memories came flooding back to him. Then the pain hit, and Anxiety stifled a scream. He was sure his ankle, wrist, and at least two of his ribs were broken. He was so sore and bruised he couldn't move. But what really worried him were his Wings - they were mangled. The slightest movement and they were on fire, bent at angles that weren't natural. Virgil was terrified Deceit had just terminated his ability to fly forever.
Flight was one of Virgil's main stress relievers and coping mechanisms. Late at night, while the others were sleeping, he'd sneak out into the wilderness of Thomas's imagination, Soaring through Meadows, dodging trees, racing above rivers, and twisting gracefully through the air. He had others, like music and drawing, but flying worked the best after anxiety attacks.
And now the side who'd damaged his wings stood before him, wielding an assortment of terrifying weapons - a hunting knife, a bull whip, a machete, and a crowbar. Virgil tried to get up and run, but collapsed with the strangled cry. Deciet took a step forward and set his toys on a table Virgil hadn't realized was there. All accept the hunting knife, that is.
Virgil's eyes widened in terror as his tormenter approached. "L," he tried, his breathing and heart rate increasing exponentially. "Please... Don't." He sounded week even to himself. Deceit grinned and plunged the blade into Virgil's shoulder, twisted it so Anxiety shrieked, and pulled it out roughly. Virgil began to cry, panicking again.
"Shh,'' Deceit ordered harshly. "We are almost done." Adjusting his grip on the knife, the snake pinned Virgil with one hand and begin cutting intricate pattern into Virgil's pale left arm. Anxiety struggled to escape, but every movement made the pain triple. His Wings fluttered miserably, dropping a few purple feathers.
The knife danced up Virgil's arm, carving morbidly beautiful designs. Soon his arm was a bloody mess, and Deceit released him. Virgill curled into a fetal position. He just wanted the nightmare to be over, but he wasn't sure if his friends would come rescue him.
"Tsk tsk," Deceit said disdainfully. "Can't handle a little pain, Virgil? Time to step it up a notch." Virgil groaned in horror, and Deceit grinned again. "What is it your little friend Creativity called you? Jason toddler?" He brandished the crowbar, and Virgil frozen terror. He couldn't run, and he definitely couldn't fight.
The crowbar felt even worse than the baseball bat. Virgil felt his right arm shatter as it came down. His ribs broke clean, bone fragments conquering vital organs. His mouth filled with his own blood again, and he spit it out. Tears filled his already darkening vision. Virgil begin internally chatting, clinging to one last fragment of Hope as he died - they'll come, they'll come, they'll come.
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