Work Text:
At first he was in awe.
Petals of varying sizes would spill from his throat, slippery and tasting sweetly of peaches.
They were a beautiful shade of lavender.
They reminded him of Sabito.
It didn’t hurt, only tickled his throat a little. He didn’t mind it, not when the flowers were this pretty.
With each flower he chokes on comes a swirl of crimson on his skin.
What a sight to behold.
Few could brag about brushstrokes of spirals flowing together on themselves. Stretching like ink across a canvas.
He admires himself now more than ever; lively petals adorn his lips, red splotches lovingly cover his body.
They’re beautiful, he’s beautiful like this.
It isn’t until he clutches the shattered fragments of a fox mask that it begins to hurt.
Large petals crawl out his throat, they’re bloody and taste of bitter peaches.
Accompanied by thorny stems, they scratch his throat and lungs. It hurts to breathe.
They’re unsightly. Crinkled, old, and easily ground into dust between his fingers. They're a shade of gray akin to the sky on a cloudy, rainy day.
They remind him of a love that’s long dead.
With each flower he hacks up, an ugly vermillion blotch stains his skin.
What a sight to see.
His arms and legs are ensnared by red, it’s messily painted on his face like makeup.
It’s suffocating.
He can’t stand to look at himself. Bloody petals stain his mouth and scarlet horridly blots him all over.
Hideous. Absolutely hideous.
He won’t last much longer like this. Each day he spends hours spewing dead flowers from his lungs. Staining the wood of the Water Estate with spittle, blood, petals and stems.
Someone had once told him that he needs to confess soon, before he’s rendered immobile.
It’s useless.
No amount of professing his love to a piece of geometric patterned cloth will save him.