❝ HEAVEN NEVER WANTED HER INSIDE ❞
She is not who she was and not who she wished to be. Wishes are for the real though and she is anything but real. No real thing could have their throat opened up by metal claws and be buried and wept over. No real thing could be hauled from that dark place by spindly limbs that worked on her body as if she were no more then an object, an experiment.
So she had concluded her body, her scars, her fleeting thoughts and all just... weren't real. In her dimly golden eyes- absolutely nothing was real.
She had moved from dark place to dark place. The cut on her neck, now a ragged and large scar, had promised her an eternal rest but it had not delivered- she would get her vengeance yet for that dastardly lie. But not now, not now. The creature that had spun her from death wanted things from her. It wanted her to be her, essentially. And right now, the her it was referencing was the kind that was going to maniacally grin and slash throats just as hers had been once upon a dream.
Maybe once the idea that she wanted to laugh at murder would've sickened her. She would've denied it and buried it and tried to hide it and snarled at it, keeping it locked in chains at the very back of her mind. But it wasn't real anymore- nothing was. That was the whole point of this show. She sat in the dark abyss that was her mind and watched the show go on- reminding herself "It's not real." Witness to horrors that once would've sparked tragedy only now made a soulless grin appear on her wicked maw. Wicked, she whispered. It was one of the few things she could actually remember from the jumbled mess of everything. That and those metal claws, inching towards her neck. Someone had murdered her, someone had murdered whoever she'd been. But she was no longer that person. Whoever the hell that'd been they died as soon as those claws made contact with her skin.
She could still feel it. Pain and then relief. It was done- it was almost as if she'd wanted to be murdered.
An echo of something she failed to recognise pounded in her fake mind. That life was not real just as this one was. And it made her smile in a grossly sardonic way. She couldn't feel anything but this powerful and overwhelming urge to do something wicked. Constantly on the cusp of hurting and slaughtering and ruining lives.... she barely held onto the cliffs edge and why shouldn't she let go? She didn't care about the fake people that lived here with their fake little lives. She really, honestly, truly didn't.
The former Monarch, fallen from her throne born of determination and false confidence, had been dead for a long time. Her heart had been motionless as had the rest of her body whilst her soul flew in black limbo, unfeeling and unseeing. Her corpse had been on the brink of decaying when the spider had dug her out and meddled around in her brain and in her body with his sharp instruments. Brought her back to a life that she wouldn't remember, brought her back to use her. He had altered her and the feline couldn't even speak properly anymore. If she tried, her sentences were jumbled and incoherent. More often then not, she would be mumbling 'wicked' over and over like a demented old thing. That was what he'd reduced her to, that was the limit her resurrected soul could reach. Yes, he'd managed to resuscitate her, somehow, but she was not the same at all. Even her body had changed. The fur was much longer then it'd been before and more coarse and tousled. Her golden eyes no longer glowed. She had an ugly scar that ran across her neck and took all the attention away from her missing leg and crooked jaw. The slight muscle in her legs remained but her shoulder blades poked through the mass of fur and she walked around as if she were constantly on a hunt, belly grazing the ground.
She, the Frankenstein of this world, had not yet been revealed to the Exilers or to anyone really, other then the giant spider, of course. He'd worked on her day and night. She wasn't perfected- no- she was faulty, extremely unstable and to put it lightly: unsafe. Putting her on the Exiler grounds could result in serious damage to either herself or the Exilers. But the creature she'd come to know as the one who dragged her from rest was going to use her mental instability. She would be his attack dog. For the months he'd kept her chained in the underground, she had been trained to let it all go under the word "jawlock". He'd seen what she did when the word was spoken. She went rapid, absolutely mad. As if she were a zombie with fresh meat placed right out in front of her. He made her associate the word with all bad feelings she felt but didn't quite know. Rage, confusion, fear, sadness. It all festered in that word. And when she heard it, it was as though her world was cleaved in two again and everything just came crumbling down on top of her muscular back and she lunged. It didn't matter if the unfortunate thing in front of her was a child, an elderly, a big motherfucking dragon- she would attack, her body became fire and her eyes became dead. It was when the word was spoken that the manic side of this new her came out to play and it enjoyed every single hurting moment.
Humiliation- she didn't know it. Not even when Abathur took her outside for the first time since her death and rebirth, outside where- to her- millions of people were. The bright light hit her like a truck as they approached the tunnels exit. She stopped walking forwards abruptly but Abathur yanked- hard- on the chains. She made no noise or complaint, just a feral grunt and an obedient walk forwards. The dark was all she'd known. The light merely frightened her though she didn't realise it. The tabby took one step on normal ground and looked, squinting into the harsh light, ears pinned back. Things walked around- people that were not Abathur. Immediately she felt an urge- not to escape and be free and go back to the family she didn't know she ever had- but to kill every single creature with a pulse. She pulled slightly against the collar chain. Quite clearly Abathur felt the resistance and pulled her back. She obeyed- not because she was afraid of the spider but because she viewed him as some sort of God. He'd made her, this fake spider. He made her and because of that there was no way she could ever leave him or hurt him or anything of the sort. Now, to make it quite clear, she didn't know what a God was but she felt the definition of the word and related it to him. He, the darkness and the word 'wicked' was her home now, even if it was fake.
People were staring at her, this feral feline that was once a 'mighty leader' who was now reduced to nothing more then a salivating and dead puppet. She didn't react to their stares, didn't really notice them if anything. She sniffed the air, an agitated huff leaving her agape mouth. She wanted to be set free to hunt. But she knew these chains around her would not let her do that and so she put all her effort into biting the chains, gnawing at the metal with her yellow teeth. It didn't work of course and she was left growling and snapping her teeth against the cold air. "Want hunt." She forced out, her damaged brain trying to voice what she wanted from this fake world. It certainly didn't work as well as it used to for Littlesoldier could only manage a word at a time, if that. She grabbed the chain with her mouth and stared up at Abathur, brow muscles twisting in frustration. "Off."
People were talking loudly. She didn't understand what they were saying but she didn't care that their voices all melded into one confusing mess. She just looked off into the distance until they'd shut up and her dark eyes went back to them. "Eat you." She said, not realising what kind of feelings these words might produce; fear, anger, shock. She just watched them, almost as if she was expecting them to be complacent and allow her to dig into their flesh with her dancing claws. The thought made her paws twitch, drool falling from the broken side of her mouth. It's fake, it's fake, don't care. She couldn't care. Littlesoldier flexed her metal claws and gave a lowly growl at the crowds, stub tail twitching to and fro, golden eyes staring right at their necks. She slowly swept her scarred mouth with her tongue and repeated her words from before. "EAT you!" Littlesoldier shouted, startling some. But nothing happened. The chain didn't come off and she wasn't let free to do what her body urged. The feline shook her head side to side, then up and down and bit hard on her lips. It was quite clear she'd done it multiple times before as the lips were raggedy split things. But it didn't hurt her or put her off. She continued to bite her own lips and stare at their throats.
Maze, escape, run, run, run, escape, light, dark everywhere, go, go, go, dirt, swallow me whole, fire, whispers, scream,
"Wicked, wicked, wicked." The feline mumbled, scratching at the dirt beneath her paws. "Wicked wants eat."