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SETTING: the nethers β ko's funeral parlor. present time. NOTES: freedom is nothing but an illusion. MENTIONS: referencing blythe's self para. TAGS: #siwooselfpara
written for my oc ko si-woo in IVORY CITY. 2022.
CONTENT WARNINGοΉ introspection. mentions of (past) homicide, self-harm, abuse and hallucinatory episode, slavery, spirit haunting (?).
γ € γ € huff, puff.
no matter how the little piggy thinks that his house is formidable, it is only a matter of time before the wind blows it down.
slender fingers bring chemicals close to his mouth; lips curling onto the rolled joint with a sneer. the smoke makes its rounds in his lungs, before a sharp exhale tries to force out the suffocating noose encircling his neck.
pulling, pulling.
like waves on the seashore, except for the flaw that he can only hear the inevitable ring of an old clock resting in the deepest parts of the building where the sound of a woman's laughter kept shut by layers of concrete crushing her frail bones more than twenty feet under keeps resounding.
the wolves are already by your door, my dear, the witch cackles. with big teeth to eat you whole.
and the half-angel who perched by the ledge of the parlor's crumbling building flexes his knuckles.
γ shut up, hag. you're already dead. γ
tutting, tutting.
won't you regret that i could've rather consume you than end up gnashed within their traps? her long, long black hair falls down onto the shoulders of a boy with a fixed stare on the horizon, ignoring the scent of resentment permeating from her rotting corpse.
you know i've always favored you, my dear siwoo. like my own child.
his left thumb now traces the inner wrist of his opposite hand, nails digging against faded scars from shackles and knives until crimson blooms into drops.
itching, itching.
so, ask me nicely one more time.
the wounds never seem to heal for a long time now, and the screeching never seem to hush. he wonders if hell spit her back for being so noisy, with every minute of her delicate persuasion turning into full on guttural scream.
ask me nicely to cut you again and again for doing me in so distastefully, you ungrateful littleββ
γ fuck. off. γ siwoo hisses with a piercing low tone, straightening swiftly to stand on the ledge and stomping a foot with enough aether to disturb the nesting crows encircling above him as the force seeps in through the cracks of the parlor.
shaking, shaking,
the sounds of wings flap furiously to fly away, leaving behind an ill-tempered baby bird with a broken pinion falling down in front of him.
bloodied fingers pull the cigarette off to shake the ashes on the tip. bloodied little thing splattered on the front of his shop, nearly colliding with the messenger from the Ministry who'd left a decisive letter in his mailbox. bloody shit, the silhouette curses as glitter rain on the trail made in the wake of an unfortunate animal, chosen for the reaping.
festered anger rips out a disdainful laugh.
siwoo knew that it has been only a matter of time before his illusion of a fortress crushes down against the reality of chains clasped back onto his wrists and ankles; and another master holds another leash around his neck, ready to peel his flesh until he can give nothing, until everything that pushed him to be where he is right now is taken back one at a time. again.
no matter how clever the little piggy is, the cunning wolf who holds the coin often prevails.
to think that he'll have more time...
to feel complacent that he won't be on the radars...
and yet, here we are.
γ oh, to the unlucky bastard who have half the mind to acquire me, γ the hybrid sings, pulling the uncontrolled aether leaking from his form inwards. he hops off the ledge before the fear that he kept at bay may resurface, his military boots echo the walk down to judgement written on the notification of slave acquirement that he'll surely toss in the fire later.
γ see you in hell. γ γ € γ €