Chapter Text
I don't know why I let this happen. I don't know why I keep letting him do this to me. Every morning I get out of bed, only to be carried into some... basement without a chance to eat. My horns look so dull compared to what they used to be--almost 100 years ago.
Striker always says he does these things to make me better, to help him with his job. A job which he hasn't described at all to me. He says he's doing it to make me stronger.
How can a knife digging into my side possibly make me stronger? I think to myself. I know not to ask him, I just have to endure it.
Until I feel him twist the blade, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream. He holds my hand and says it'll be okay, but I don't believe him. I can't believe him.
After what felt like an eternity of torment, Striker finally pulls the knife out. I'm drenched in sweat and tears, and the tears keep coming when he pulls me close to him, petting my hair like I'm some kind of animal. I almost feel relaxed, that's when his hands trail down my sides.
Then he plunges a clawed finger into my wound. I let out a cry, and for whatever reason, he praises me for it, telling me I both look and sound beautiful. The tears taste so salty, but they're one of the few things that can keep me distracted. He digs around in the hole in my side, and I feel my head start to spin.
Black spots appear in my vision before spots become blobs and blobs become complete darkness. All I can hear is him telling me what a good imp I am.