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    Summary

    Death number four was where things started to go sideways.

    Gideon's breath was shaky, stuttering; she released it after swallowing bloody, salty spit, and she could even pretend that her breathing sounded like that from the act of puking, or from being light-headed, or–

    Or anything, really, just so long as it wasn't–

    Harrow, on her knees, hands shoved into Gideon's thighs to the wrist–blood leaking from her ears, now, her mouth and cheeks a nauseating, sticky mess. Black and sheeted, the blood crusted at the edges, clotting beneath her chin as that blazing hot pain pulled grunts of pleasure from behind Gideon's teeth. She must have made a noise; the pain was all encompassing, a hot, violent cacophony of suffering that appeared at first blush comprised of an impossible pressure against her throat–

    But the pleasure was, somehow, worse.

    -or-

    Gideon doesn't die in the end, much to her chagrin.

    Language:
    English
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