SELF RIGHTEOUS SUICIDE >> Development

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    // 2080 words !

    tw for mentions of death, suicide + scenes of gore !!

    not really a warning but Ver's a vague narrator it's mostly a psychoanalysis disguised as a dev. thread


    A miasma had washed over her mind, thick and brooding it drowned out most of her thoughts and just left her so tired. It wasn't uttered, wasn't complained about but yet it hung over her day in and day out. The cause was simple; childishly slow. She was a full-grown woman yet here she was still having nightmares. Ones that dominated her life yet ones she'd never bring up in conversation. No one had to know so she wouldn't involve them in her own mental issues, she’d toil with them in peace alone and locked off from everyone else. It was a small price to pay for the things she’d done, the only guilt she experienced for the blood she’d spilled, for the families and lives she tore asunder. It wasn’t a retribution, it made up for nothing, nothing at all. She lived and prospered and got a second chance at life while she walked on their graves as they rotted six feet under. She knew they cursed her name and lineage, they had every right to despise the woman that had slain them, they cursed her existence and prayed for vengeance. A vengeance that had yet to be had, a truly unfair fact for them. Her pain was so minor, so insignificant compared to what she had done to them. So what did she face? Well Ver had nightmares; horrifying ones but she didn’t get knifed, didn’t get stalked, she’d never feared for her life. Not even once. she lived her life happily, drinking in her own hedonistic pleasures without regard. She was “loved” by those who Referred to her as a friends a mentor, a comrade... she received promotions she didn’t deserve. And the only price for all of that was the occasional waves of nightmares that haunted her at night. It occurred in waves came quickly but always suddenly dissipated as soon as they revealed themselves, this bout had been excruciating;different than all its predecessors. It thrummed in her ears and made her want to dig the palms of her paws into her eyes in a vain attempt to push them as far back as they could go. Until they inevitably popped, she wondered if it’d make the dreams stop. If the pain and blindness would halt and stem the flow of her nightmares.


    Ver lay panting, her eyes wide yet empty as the stared into the darkness towards the sleeping forms of those nearby. They slept peaceful undisturbed by night terrors, faces placid and content while she suffered in her own imposed stupor. Her dull claws lay half dug into the wood, blood weeping from them as they screamed in white hot pain up at her. A cold rasp of breath came from her as she slowly forced herself up, wincing as her claws dug further into the wood. She relinquished in the splitting pain traveling through her forelegs, she trembles silently as she takes an intake of brisk breath through her clenched teeth. She was told nightmares couldn’t hurt her as if she was some sort of frightened child, told nothing that happened in the dreamscape could damage her. Sure, no wounds sustained lasted once she awoke but she shuddered and clawed in her sleep. Hurting herself in a vain effort to escape her demons. She wondered if it was possible to kill herself in her dreams, would it extend into this reality? If she could mutilate herself than perhaps it would end, these torn claws didn't do the trick so what if she went further... No, that wouldn't work either. She wasn't insane for fucks sake. She needed her body, needed her wellness her brain could deteriorate all it wanted her strength however was of utmost importance. Without it she was no better than a husk of a creature, one who didn't deserve to dwell in this world. She'd blink down at her bloody paws, letting out another deep breath.


    Ver shook her fur, giving a resigned grumble as she attempted to regain her bearings and pride. Her body still trembling and her wings were clamped tightly to her sides. Her mind felt like lit up static coursing through her skull, it told so much yet nothing at all. She didn’t remember the dream, but supposed it was same as the rest. Drowning in a sea of corpses, crawling and swimming hopelessly against a maelstrom of blood and flesh as she screamed helplessly and pathetically. It always ended at the same place, where she’d crawl out her voice torn and broken and covered in her own work. She always woke up by the time she felt the paw cup her chin, always shot awake as the words purred in her ears “good job my sweet doll” a voice unmistakable and timeless no matter how many months had passed. No matter how much she’d changed it stayed the same, haunting her, tormenting her. She had grown so strong, had grown up on her own devoid of that womans guiding paw yet she still hung over her like an awful shadow. Still purred words into her ears, Ver couldn't get rid of her now matter how much she tried. No amount of tears or begging would make it stop, so she accepted it with the barest of patience. There was nothing she could do but allow it to unfold, the phantom image wouldn't leave so she might as well invite it to stay, Invite it farther and farther into the dark crevices of her mind in hopes that one day it'd fade into obscurity. She swallowed her spit, whining lowly as she crawled her way out of the chapel. Walking tentatively as she weaved her way over the sleeping rogues. Walking on the heels of her paws to try and avoid doing more damage to her claws.


    She slipped quietly out the doorway, her fur brushing against the wood as she squeezed herself through the gap. The cold air hit her immediately causing her fur to prickle as she left the warmth of the church to bare against the brunt of winter. She paused for a minute standing just outside the door, blinking out into the wilderness before sighing and stepping down to walk. She wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon, she might as well do another ‘late night patrol’ so Saoirse or one of the others didn’t get on her case. Her paws sank in the snow, sending another wave of pain through her legs before subsiding as the cold worked itself into her skin numbing the pain. For a while the shepherd walked in silence, ears swiveling as she descended into the darkness of the pines, listening to the cold whispering that purred across the forest. An illusion of the ears; she paid it no mind. It was accompanied by the hoots of distant owls, the skittering of mammal legs and of course the rustling of the branches overhead Faint sounds that let her know she wasn’t alone out here, she was glad she didn’t want to walk in complete silence. She couldn't handle the deadness of night; she didn't want to be alone with just her thoughts. Yet they'd still stew in her mind as her mind wracked through the things she's done the countless crimes she'd committed. Scene after scene would play in her head, a broken record that went on and on no matter how distant she'd became towards it. She hadn't played into her desires, hand't formally returned to her work yet these feelings of regret and guilt returned angrily. Ever since the incident with Narcissus she’d be mostly clean, she’d been “good” her activities had halted completely and her life was together. For all intensive reasons Ver should be happy, should be content with this all. She shouldn’t be plagued with her terrors, she was redeemed wasn’t she? She had a greater purpose, she was working to become better for the sake of the rogues. For her own sake.


    Yet these feelings and nightmares continued to beat her over the head for being such an imbecile for thinking she could take the easy route. She’d lived a long enough life to know things were never that easy. You reaped what you sowed and eventually she would be caught or killed. It was the way of life. The predator inevitably became the prey and the cycle flourished. She held no bitterness towards that fact, accepting it the moment she’d done her first job. The second she’d killed someone for the first time locked her destiny forever, no matter how much she changed or how hard tried to redeem herself her fate and sin wouldn’t ever be changed. Once a murderer always a murderer. She wasn't worthy of redemption.


    The shepherd licked her lips, pale red gaze staring down at the snow as her paws continued to lead her on her aimless track. Crunching in the snow loudly as she went on and on, breath controlled yet heavy. The beginnings of a migraine already bursting into her head, it was much to late to toil over these things she couldn't solve. If she'd just face them, if she'd talk about them than perhaps things would get better. But Ver would much rather eat her own shit. This walk was serving it's purpose allowing her to think freely but it was disturbed as the headache grew more and more intense. Thrumming hotly behind her eyes, pushing against her skull as if he brain was voluntarily trying to eject itself away from her many frantic thoughts. She'd stop falling to her side letting out a low growl as the pain persisted. Coming in droves as she seethed, her paws and wings wrapped around her body in an attempt to cradle herself to subsidize this new hot pain. She forgot almost entirely about the pain lancing through her paws. Forgot all about her mothers stare and her soft words it was replaced with this sudden breathtaking pain. She'd convulse muscles retracting and then tensing around themselves as her nerves were set alight. For once she was scared, because fuck why now? Why did it have to happen when she was alone. She hated it so much. She wanted somebody anybody just to sit by her to sooth her frayed nerves, Mother, her friends, anyone. This desperate loneliness persisted no matter how hard she tried to crush it, it wouldn't leave her alone. Wouldn't let her live her life. Why? did other people have to matter now? Why couldn't she just go back to being herself, she hadn't needed anyone she didn't need anyone. The rogues had fucked that up for her, set heron a road she couldn't get off of. She wanted to blame them but right now as she lay seething in the snow she could only bring herself to hate one person. One person named "Ver Million"


    The pain would accumulate into one painful stroke, one moment it all lit up and the pain coursed through her every nerve like corrosive venom. She'd yelp pitifully, curling around herself as her body gave into her own nature, shaking horribly as she rasped for her breath. It gathered across her back, exiting her head and swelling over her spine and wings making her shake like a leaf. She wasn't there for what unfolded, wasn't quite in her mind as ligaments and sinew tore apart, rupturing under the pressure as new flesh and bone constructed itself from the ashes. Forming into two sheets of ragged leathery sheets. Wings, they felt foreign and unreal her nerves didn't recognize them yet, her head would crane from it position (forcibly shoved between her paws laying uncomfortably in the snow, to stare back at the new limbs. Blood and matter covered them, they'd ripped there way through her in a moments notice yet now she felt no pain not anymore. It was silent once more, her breath stuck in her throat as she'd force herself clumsily up. Red eyes blank and wide as she'd stumble towards one of the pines throwing her weight onto it as she stared down into the snow. The parlor of the moonlight shown through revealing a shadow of a woman she didn't want to be.


    // IE; Ver's been having nightmares. Or much rather this is the first time they're formally
    addressed

    This leads to her going for a walk and while she's on this said walk she starts to get some intense growing pains (or what she calls a migraine) and collapses and sprouts new wings just above her smaller pair.

    ”SPEECH.”

  • It was funny how biology worked in this world. Growing up, Saoirse hadn't been as exposed to extra appendages as one might think. Sure, Grace had wings, but.. Well, that was just Grace. Grace was the exemption, not the rule. Everyone else were either ordinary felines like herself or dogs, with the handful of rare species thrown in. All the books she read, inside out and upside down, never mentioned extra wings or extra tails without making them sound like defunct birth defects, being more of an inconvenience than anything. Then she met her mentor, Archangel, who had the most magnificent pair of white wings that had ever graced this earth. Truly, he was an angel in the way he commanded the air beneath his wings, and moved ever so gracefully through it. Then there was Nico. The former Strategist had more of a direct, 'I'll-cut-corners-if-I-want' attitude to flying, throwing grace out the window and replacing it was high-energy and daring. They were two people Sao had looked towards when she herself had gained her wings at the ripe old age of 8 months. Walking around with painful lumps on your back that only increased in size with every day wasn't exactly what one would call a pleasant experience, and to be quite frank, she wouldn't wish it upon her worst enemy.


    She never did master flying, or even gliding for that matter, preferring to use her extra appendages to carry things or offer comforting embraces to this that needed it, but nowadays, she would catch herself staring at the stumps of what was left of them on her back, and wondered what could have been. Would she have mastered flying? Maybe. Maybe not. She would just walk right on by.


    Tonight, she was still walking. It wasn't incredibly unusual for Rogues to be seen wandering the territory at night time, given how many liked to use the serenity of the dark to release their pent-up struggles, so seeing the figure of a fellow clanmate in the distance wasn't particularly worrying. At first. That wrenched metallic scent was quick to follow, and in scenting it, it sent the mother-of-two jogging towards its source as she mentally prepared herself for the worst. Between her own attack, and Helios, life in the background of the East Whispering Pines was becoming increasingly dangerous.


    "Ver?" Her tone was almost incredulous. Almost. Of everyone here in the Rogues, the aforementioned German Shepherd was the last person she expected to see in such a state. She was tough as nails, taking everything that came her way with little more than a clench of her jaw. That was one of the reasons she had been awarded the Steadfast title, after all. "Oh mo Dhia..." She mumbled as she got closer, hurriedly talking off her scarf in order to press it against the source of the bleeding, but as she got closer, Saoirse found that there was none. In its place, two wings - smaller than her original pair, but equally as intimidating. The Overseer winced a little, thinking back to her own experience of such a traumatic event, and found herself moving closer to support the Shepherd, "Ver.. What happened, love? Let's get you inside the castle, you'll freeze out here.."


    / first of all, keda how dare you

    second of all, keda how dare you

    no matter how hard I pray --------------------- SIGNS OF WARNING STILL REMAIN

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    made by checkers


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    She'd bitterly wonder if it was possible for her to fly now, if she'd even want to. She could tear them off, bite of the tendons and nerves and discard them away into the pines for no one to ever see. Surely it'd be easier that way, she wouldn't need to see them she wouldn't need to explain the problem with them. In some eyes they were cool, something to fawn over and use. They were practical yes, but that didn't stop her from hating them and deeply thinking over the options of self mutilation or death. All stemmed because of her fucking dreams, no it went further back than that her dreams were just a side affect of memories she'd long suppressed. These new wings she supposed were in the same boat, except much more physical and real. She couldn't ignore them, the pain and the sight of them wouldn't allow her to.


    She was only vaguely aware of Saoirse's arrival, blinking hazily as she pushed her head and shoulder further into the tree as the woman came closer. Looking more like a frightened half beaten child than the 'cool headed tough strategist' she'd made herself out to be. With a shaky sigh she finally came back to reality, realzing just how unfettered she truly looked. If she looked murderous before than she had no clue what she looked like to Saoirse now. She'd wobbly step forward almost falling over, her now four wings instinctively unfurling for balance but ultimately she accepted Saoirse's gesture too much in pain to deny the help. If she was okay by any stretch she would've laughed at the irony, "Love" huh? It'd been a while since she'd heard any kinds of endearment coming from the overseer. ”I'm... Okay” she'd rasp wincing as a new hot pain crawled over her spine ”This is nothing...” she'd add half to herself and half towards Saoirse. ”Heading inside sounds really nice.... Ah I just need some sleep” her voice was slurred almost delirious, she was stuck in her own fear and pain. Allowing it to wrap itself around her; sleep could help but in actuality it might just fuck her over again. She wasn't too sure.


    // >:))


    ”SPEECH.”

  • Saoirse found herself shaking her head with mild disapproval at the other's response, though concern was still clearly evident on her face, "You're not okay, Ver." The words were wrapped in worry, though as soft and gentle as she would use on her own boys. This wasn't the strong and stoic German Shepherd that the Rogues had come to know. Had she been hiding something from them all along? It wouldn't be surprising, considering how enigmatic the Strategist remained, despite how long she'd been here. Still, Saoirse couldn't help but feel slightly... foolish? She had given her apologies personally to Ver, who accepted them with a simple chuckle and 'okay', but she had never thought to ask the other how she was doing. Looking back, nobody did.


    Slowly and steadily, Saoirse walked onwards towards the church, doing her best to keep the other upright, "Ver.." Pale blue eyes, turned almost white in the moonlight, glanced towards the dog at her side, "What's going on with you? What happened?"

    no matter how hard I pray --------------------- SIGNS OF WARNING STILL REMAIN

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    made by checkers


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    She tried to recall the last time she'd over been open with anyone; never she wasn't even completely honest with herself. She was doomed to this cycle of denial, and she couldn't find herself to stare down at those eyes. She couldn't bring herself to cough up an excuse or change the subject, the only response she could give was a turn of her head and a raspy chuckle. As if the situation was funny when it clearly wasn't. Her eyes stared everywhere except in the direction of Saoirse, downright refusing to even try to look down at the Overseer. She wasn't going to break, her pride prevented her from doing as much. Her stupid worthless pride, it had kept her alive for this long but what was it worth now when just about everyone could call her out on her bullshitted act.


    She'd take a long drawn out sigh before forcing the words back up, doing her best to not grimace and wince with every struggled vocalization ”Nothing happened” she'd done her best to sound as genuine as possible forcing her voice back into it's mask of normalcy as best s she could. ”Ahaha.. well I suppose that's an understatement she'd woof trailing off back into her former somberness. ”... These wings are nice right? Maybe i'll be able to fly finally...” her lip curled up bitterly and she almost slipped in the snow, gait trampling as she caught herself. ”Wouldn't that be nice it wasn't nice at all. The laugh she'd coughed out was forced, loud and raucous but oh so empty.

    ”SPEECH.”

  • Saoirse knew the struggle of opening up to people oh so very well. Vulnerability was a feeling their ancestors had done their damndest to prevent, from developing spines and thick hides, to camouflage. Eventually, as higher thinking and sentimentality evolved alongside these physical traits, they learned to hide their feelings as well, for fear of being left behind or picked off for seeming weak. It was natural, really, not to want to open up. You didn't want to seem weak, and you certainly didn't want to be exploited. But Saoirse had learned, through trial and error, that although there were certain individuals out there that would screw you over, if you had a few people whose trust was immeasurable, then opening up could be cathartic and healthy.


    She kept her eyes trained on the other, noting how Ver struggled to meet them. "Ver.. You're okay, here. You're safe. What's going on with you?" Saoirse repeated with a little more urgency and concern for the Strategist.

    no matter how hard I pray --------------------- SIGNS OF WARNING STILL REMAIN

    - -

    made by checkers