[the way that the door is shoved open against the short length of chain by some invisible force makes it seem as if it's demanding attention. though, it's impossible to tell whether it's hoping that Adra is the one to acknowledge it, or Coil is.
beyond the door is some central room of what is likely an ancient manor, a dining hall perhaps, though the details outside the glow of the fire in the hearth are hard to make out. the attention is all on the woman haloed in the firelight-- tall and severe, with features that clearly show a family resemblance to Coil. and he's there too, with his missing eye bandaged, face red from sobbing.
he's saying something; he may be pleading by the way he practically grovels at her, trying to reach for sleeves or her hand or anything she's willing to offer him. but, maybe he has even lost his voice in his memories, because the sound is small and muddled, and she's not listening anyway. she keeps her arms folded and doesn't yield and inch as he begs.
"Forgive you?" she booms over the boy. "How do you expect to ever account for your transgressions? How can you ever offer enough penance for what you've done?"
he continues to plea, and the scene continues to warp and steal his voice. all that remains of the recollection are muffled, impotent murmurs. and as the woman hisses about how his unruliness, his incompetence and his treacherous tongue have ruined her, the whole scene becomes even more unclear.
in the next clear moment the woman's back is turned for one second. and in that moment, the boy finds a pair of serrated tongs and a boning knife on a nearby tray of torturous instruments that hadn't been in focus before. they're visible now, highlighted by the sick overcontrast that comes with riding high on adrenaline. because the boy is at the end of his rope, and the only answer he sees is lying on the tray.
mercifully, his back is turned toward the door when he sticks the tongs into his mouth. he pulls, and draws the knife across in one swift, numb motion.
if she isn't going to listen, all he has left is showing her his remorse. he'll cut out any treacherous thing if it will make her happy.
the gush of blood hitting the stone floor is what reclaims her attention. and she stares for only a moment before she's lunging at him, because she knows that he's not expecting to survive his little display... and she's not about to let another child of hers be ruined beyond repair. the feel of her silent, furious will rings off the wall around the real sounds--choking on blood, and the scrape of a poker dragging across the iron grate as she rips it out of the fire.
shoving the drowning boy back against the table until he's practically lying across it, she jams something else from the tray into his mouth to jack open his jaw... and in goes the poker, to seal the wound. the heated metal hits his lips on the way in, as he kicks and screams and struggles, and he will carry those scars for the rest of his life.
he will be maimed, rendered more useless than he'd been already, but she is not letting him get away with this.]
no subject
beyond the door is some central room of what is likely an ancient manor, a dining hall perhaps, though the details outside the glow of the fire in the hearth are hard to make out. the attention is all on the woman haloed in the firelight-- tall and severe, with features that clearly show a family resemblance to Coil. and he's there too, with his missing eye bandaged, face red from sobbing.
he's saying something; he may be pleading by the way he practically grovels at her, trying to reach for sleeves or her hand or anything she's willing to offer him. but, maybe he has even lost his voice in his memories, because the sound is small and muddled, and she's not listening anyway. she keeps her arms folded and doesn't yield and inch as he begs.
"Forgive you?" she booms over the boy. "How do you expect to ever account for your transgressions? How can you ever offer enough penance for what you've done?"
he continues to plea, and the scene continues to warp and steal his voice. all that remains of the recollection are muffled, impotent murmurs. and as the woman hisses about how his unruliness, his incompetence and his treacherous tongue have ruined her, the whole scene becomes even more unclear.
in the next clear moment the woman's back is turned for one second. and in that moment, the boy finds a pair of serrated tongs and a boning knife on a nearby tray of torturous instruments that hadn't been in focus before. they're visible now, highlighted by the sick overcontrast that comes with riding high on adrenaline. because the boy is at the end of his rope, and the only answer he sees is lying on the tray.
mercifully, his back is turned toward the door when he sticks the tongs into his mouth. he pulls, and draws the knife across in one swift, numb motion.
if she isn't going to listen, all he has left is showing her his remorse. he'll cut out any treacherous thing if it will make her happy.
the gush of blood hitting the stone floor is what reclaims her attention. and she stares for only a moment before she's lunging at him, because she knows that he's not expecting to survive his little display... and she's not about to let another child of hers be ruined beyond repair. the feel of her silent, furious will rings off the wall around the real sounds--choking on blood, and the scrape of a poker dragging across the iron grate as she rips it out of the fire.
shoving the drowning boy back against the table until he's practically lying across it, she jams something else from the tray into his mouth to jack open his jaw... and in goes the poker, to seal the wound. the heated metal hits his lips on the way in, as he kicks and screams and struggles, and he will carry those scars for the rest of his life.
he will be maimed, rendered more useless than he'd been already, but she is not letting him get away with this.]