[Long days in the workshop, nights in Ragnarök's kitchen slicing bodies he didn't source, ribcages snapping open as springloaded winglike bars release their tension, metal hooks sanded down into the shape of claws extracted from torn skin, hearts exposed, still beating, the easiest thing in the world to wind a hand around their backs and bring their open chests up to his teeth, the eighth-floor glances in the hallway between those who witnessed the last gasp of Fabius Bile, the shape of the Ring-Spirit barely seen in the dark, emergency blood drives at the clinic and midnight harvests of enough blood to kill into bags neatly dated and stored, old names in papers, new names on graves--
He shuts his eyes, smiles a you-got-me smile.]
...ah, I'm afraid not.
[He steps toward the bed, dropping the bottle of water on a nightstand that used to have a book on it but doesn't anymore and then using the same wing-claw to pull the bedsheets down.]
But I've got every intention of sleeping through to tomorrow.
cw gore/intrusive thoughts
He shuts his eyes, smiles a you-got-me smile.]
...ah, I'm afraid not.
[He steps toward the bed, dropping the bottle of water on a nightstand that used to have a book on it but doesn't anymore and then using the same wing-claw to pull the bedsheets down.]
But I've got every intention of sleeping through to tomorrow.