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Pomni is haunted by it. In wakefulness and sleep, Pomni can feel nothing but the relentless and repeated agony of a knife sunk into deep, rubbery flesh. Vastly different from that of human skin, though sensitive all the same.
Pomni tries desperately to rid the memories and sensation from her mind. Today’s adventure was torturous, as most of Caine’s adventures are. However, this one far surpassed the ringmaster’s usual levels of insanity. Chased through a haunted hospital by knife-wielding NPCs, Pomni did not escape unscathed. One of the doctors plunged its knife deep within Pomni’s stomach, giving a good, hearty twist before extracting the knife from her bloodied flesh.
Horrified and too pained to formulate a single sound, Pomni recalls having crumpled to the ground, curling in on herself and resting her cheek against the cold tile. She grit her teeth in agony, fumbling with her costume, which was soaked through with blood. The woman may have been sobbing, although she was much too delirious with pain to remember anything now.
How long she had been lying on that cold tile, Pomni has no idea. She and the others were soon returned to the circus tent, and with a prompt snap of his fingers, Caine rid them of their wounds and bloodied attire. As everyone else expressed their relief and complaints regarding that horrid adventure, Pomni could only stand off to the side, clutching her stomach and groaning until the room stopped its ceaseless spinning.
Although healed since that adventure, Pomni is tense and on-edge. She can’t help but fear that something is deeply wrong; as though Caine’s simple snap did nothing to relieve her of her stab wound.
All throughout the day, Pomni pokes and prods at the sensitive area, eliciting a pained whimper from the jester every time. However, there’s no trace of blood. No sign that her wound has re-opened. So, Pomni pushes the sensation into the back of her mind. Besides, her friends are acting rather normal. Chances are, they’re experiencing the same sensations themselves, and their lack of verbal complaints and pained expressions is only further proof that Pomni is overdramatizing the situation.
Following the adventure, Pomni quickly stole away to her room. Every second brings with it a fresh wave of pain, and Pomni needs to lie down in her bed and rest her eyes. Just barely had the woman closed her lids before a gentle knock issued from her door. Gritting her teeth, Pomni opened the door a crack, just enough to see the gentle face of Ragatha smiling down at her.
Pomni wanted nothing more than time to herself, however, she accepted Ragatha’s invitation to partake in board game night. She could already see the concern stitched into the doll’s expression. The way her hands fiddled in front of her, portraying her obvious concern.
Trying her best to walk with confident purpose, Pomni joined the others gathered by the multi-colored couches in the central area of The Tent.
Usually fully engaged and partaking in playful banter with the others, this time, Pomni remained still and silent. Every time she moved, her skin felt as though the wound was prepping to open again. Surely this is normal. Briefly, Pomni considered asking her friends, though held back from doing so.
Too pained and disconnected to notice, Pomni missed Ragatha’s frequent concerned glances in her direction. She missed the subtle attempt at reeling her into the conversation (“So, Pomni, do you think I could make a good play with these cards here?”), as well as Ragatha’s attempts at establishing a closer, physical connection with the jester (gently punching her arm in a playful manner numerous times).
When Pomni peeped an escape at the tail end of their social hour, she took it without hesitation. Mumbling some excuse about being tired (none of them really need to sleep), Pomni dashed away as quickly as her weak body would allow.
By the end of her trek up the stairs to their living quarters, Pomni is holding her stomach and limping feebly. Something is deeply wrong, though the woman can’t help but consider any possibility but the worst. Surely a bit of rest will do her some good. By tomorrow she’ll be completely back to normal.
Pathetically dragging herself onto the bed, Pomni sighs audibly. Everything hurts. Lying supine only puts more strain on her stomach, and the woman doesn’t even want to consider lying facedown. So, Pomni settles for a sad and pitiful fetal position.
Pain blossoms across her stomach, somehow far worse than what she was experiencing just moments ago. Did she pull something?
Clawing at the sheets beneath her, Pomni shuts her eyes tightly. Any attempts at falling asleep are futile, what with this endless sensation of being vigorously stabbed over and over.
“Ow…” Pomni whimpers, pressing a hand to her sore abdomen.
Pomni isn’t sure how long she remains in this position, stars flashing in her vision. In this twisted digital world, the stars she’s seeing are 3D projections with cartoony faces like those of gloinks; a taunting reminder of how nothing is real here, yet this pain is the realest thing she’s felt since she put on the headset.
Pomni’s breathing slows, the room tilting around her as her vision grows hazy. It’s not possible to die here, is it? Hell, she’s partaken in adventures where she and her friends have been shot, possessed, and fallen from immeasurable heights that would kill any human, to name a few. A knife to the stomach shouldn’t be fatal here…
So how come Pomni feels as though she’s dying?
The pain becomes too great, and all Pomni can hope for is the relief of fainting. She shuts her eyes, and finds herself surrounded by an ever-expanding darkness.
However, Pomni doesn’t seem to have passed out. Nor is she entirely conscious. She’s standing weightless as though parted from her body. As though in a dream, she’s stagnant within a dark abyss. A faint spotlight stemming from a tiny hole above her serves as the only source of light.
Where am I?
Taking a tentative step forward, her footfalls echo within the cavernous hole. Wringing her hands in front of her, Pomni glances around her, as though scared something may leap out at her unprovoked.
Her fears aren’t unwarranted, as suddenly, Pomni hears a mechanical crunch of glitching disarray, a sound she’s heard on only one occasion, and hoped to god that she’d never have to hear again.
An abstraction.
From the shadows, a creature riddled with glitches and dozens of glowing eyes lumbers into view, rendered unrecognizable just like every other abstraction. Is this Kinger’s wife? Kaufmo? One of the dozens of faces in the hall with a large red “X” obscuring their face?
Pomni is frozen, heart seizing as she gazes upon the looming figure before her. The abstraction doesn’t seem to have noticed her, its many eyes flitting around the room violently, as though searching.
Hunting.
Suddenly, every colorful eye locks on Pomni. Immobile and terrified, Pomni can only stare. A glitchy choking sound emits from the abstraction, its many eyes flaring.
Suddenly, pain erupts in Pomni’s stomach, as though spurred by the monster’s stare. Gasping, she doubles over in pain, falling with a sickening crunch onto her knees in the center of the hole.
Applying a trembling hand to her stomach, Pomni whimpers as a sticky warmth coats her fingers. She looks down, grimacing at a trembling hand coated with dark blood. Her blood.
Pomni looks at her stomach, and is met with a sight far worse than she anticipated.
Not only is a gaping wound in her stomach bleeding profusely with no plans of stopping anytime soon, but the sight of the wound is active with glitches. It reminds Pomni vividly of her first day in the circus, when, in an attempt to save Ragatha from an abstracted Kaufmo, she found her hand alive with a frenzy of painful glitches.
However, these glitches are far bigger, and to Pomni’s horror, they seem to be spreading. Crawling across her stomach, the glitching slowly expands. It’s only a matter of time before Pomni becomes one of those.
Looking up again, Pomni is met with more eyes. More abstractions are seeping from the darkness, stalking toward her as though in an attempt to maim her.
Whimpering, Pomni scuttles back on all fours, though her attempts at escaping only send more pain throughout her body. With a haunting realization, Pomni begins to understand where she is.
This must be the cellar.
This observation should be something of a relief for Pomni, for she’s solved the mystery of where she could have possibly wound up. However, the implications are terrifying. Here she is, a glitchy mess, coated in blood and gasping with pain. Discarded, soon to evolve into one of the monsters before her. Caine must have walked into her room, seen her on the bed in her wounded state, and cast her into the cellar to join the other abstractions.
Pomni tries to call for help, aiming her screams in the direction of the hole above her. However, only a wheeze issues from her lips. Her chest tightens, every inhale a great effort.
Attempting to call for help again, Pomni is horrified to see the hole above her shrinking. Slowly, she’s being drenched in darkness, soon to fall prey to whatever horrors lie in this dark cellar.
Pomni tries with all of her might to scream, but no sound comes out. Heaving great, terrified breaths, Pomni draws her knees to her chest, tears sliding down her cheeks before she has the chance to suppress them.
Steadily, she watches the door closing… closing…
Until everything goes black. Pomni shuts her eyes. It’s not as though she can see anything, and she doesn’t quite wish to witness her own abstraction.
A glitchy snarl emits from right beside her ear, and Pomni gasps, opening her eyes.
However, rather than millions of abstracted eyes, Pomni sees her bedroom. The red and blue decor, drawers, and children’s toys scattered about reassure Pomni immediately.
It was a dream… just a dream, Pomni reminds herself.
At least, Pomni thought so.
Another sharp stabbing sensation assaults Pomni’s stomach, and the woman gasps again, instinctively bringing a hand to the source of the pain.
However, something is wrong. Pomni can sense that immediately. Heart dropping violently, Pomni’s hand trembles as she fumbles with her costume. Sucking in shallow gasps, Pomni looks down, terrified to confirm her greatest fear.
There’s blood everywhere. Coating her bed, her costume, and turning her blue glove a darker shade. Thankfully, there’s no trace of glitches, a product of her nightmare that will hopefully remain fictitious. Although that doesn’t reassure Pomni all that much. With every passing moment, the jester feels more and more woozy.
Pomni weakly lifts her head from the pillow, the whole room spinning as a result. Shutting her eyes tightly, Pomni grabs at the side of the bed, staining more of the fabric with her blood. She can’t move. She’s too weak.
She’s gonna die here, isn’t she? It’s funny, dying from something one didn’t think was possible here. However, Pomni is certain that she’s going to die tonight. The twisted truth of it is that no one will have any idea until the following morning. Will they even care to enter her room and check on her? If she doesn’t answer Ragatha’s expectant knock tomorrow, will they simply move on? Assume she’s still upset from the last adventure? How long will she remain here until someone finally cares enough to find her? Until then, will she be… forgotten?
No, no. I’m not letting that happen.
Blinking away the inky blackness that threatens to swallow her again, Pomni shifts weakly on the bed, pressing a hand to her bleeding abdomen. She needs help now.
Who she’ll inevitably turn to for help, Pomni has no idea. For now, her goal is to exit her room, which is a feat in and of itself. She grips the bed post, coating the gold-painted wood in her blood as she shuffles her way towards the door. Every step renders her more and more weakened, until it’s a near miracle that she hasn’t fainted yet.
Opening her door, Pomni collapses against the frame, gasping. Blood drips onto the floor, a noticeably darker shade of red than the hallway’s carpeting. Everyone is going to notice it at some point. They’ll see it trailing from her room, and will want to know what happened. Pomni doesn’t want to think about telling everyone right now. Just the thought makes her nauseous.
Push on, Pomni.
Pushing off of the door frame for support, Pomni stumbles down the hall. Through blurry vision, she can see Jax, Gangle, and Zooble’s rooms. To the right of her, Ragatha’s room. The doll’s smile is gentle and welcoming.
Heaving a breath, Pomni limps heavily towards Ragatha’s room. Out of everyone, Ragatha seems hardly qualified to deal with her current situation, nor would the doll be quite calm at the sight of blood. However, Ragatha has proven herself to be the most tender, and that’s what Pomni could benefit from right now.
Pomni isn’t someone who often craves affection, rather prone to rejecting it most of the time. However, the contents of her nightmare torment her. Being cast to the cellar, forgotten; discarded. She needs the reminder that someone cares.
And she knows Ragatha does.
Stopping at Ragatha’s door, Pomni nearly collapses right there. With all the strength she can muster, she plasters on a calm expression (one that looks far from calm to any outsider). If she’s going to present herself to Ragatha in such a distressed state, might as well try to look as calm as possible to start. Knowing Ragatha, if she panics, Ragatha might panic too.
Pomni rings the doorbell, and it echoes throughout the hall. She prays that nobody else will leave their room at the sound. The last thing the jester wants is a slew of people crowding her, fussing over her and asking if she’s okay. A funny concept, as the woman whose doorbell she’s just rung is the one most known to fuss over Pomni.
There’s no turning back now.
For a moment, Pomni is convinced that Ragatha will never answer the door. Just as she begins to consider lying in front of the doll’s room as a means of quelling her agonizing pain, the door opens.
The rag doll peeks through the door at Pomni. Her expression shifts from confusion, to joy at the realization that it’s Pomni, to confusion again, then to intense fear and concern. Her eye flickers between Pomni’s pained and weakened state to the trail of blood across the floor.
“Pomni?” Ragatha whispers, opening the door wider and dashing over to Pomni faster than the jester’s seen her move before.
Pomni wants to say something; explain to Ragatha what’s happened as eloquently as possible. However, all eloquence left her the moment she started bleeding out. So it’s no surprise that the only thing to leave Pomni’s mouth is a weak “Ragatha”, though it upsets Pomni that she can’t say anything more.
“Pomni!” More urgent, Ragatha is wrapping her arms around the small jester. Eye widening at the state of her stomach, Ragatha gasps out a “you’re bleeding, what’s going on?”
Pomni can tell that the older woman is suppressing her rising panic, although failing to disguise it. All Pomni can ask for is the ability to formulate a calm sentence.
However, all she manages to do is release a feeble “help”, and her legs give out beneath her.
Vision blurring, Pomni sinks to the ground. The soft arms of Ragatha wrap around her, holding the small woman’s weight up before she hits the ground.
“I’ve got you, Pomni. I’ve got you,” Ragatha coos, stroking the back of Pomni’s head. Bloodied hands grab at Ragatha’s dress in an attempt to save her fall, the jester whimpering into the doll’s hug.
Gently, Ragatha rises, bringing Pomni with her. Slackening in more of a ragdoll fashion than Ragatha herself, Pomni ceases her exhausted attempts at holding herself up. She finally gives in to the pain; allows herself to relax in Ragatha’s firm embrace.
Feeling Pomni slacken in her arms, Ragatha’s body goes rigid.
“Pomni, sweetie, you there?” Ragatha gasps, no longer able to suppress the panic in her voice.
“Ugh… huh?” Pomni stirs weakly, aware that Ragatha has addressed her, though unable to process what she’s being told.
Ragatha exhales weakly, and Pomni doesn’t have to see her face in order to feel just how relieved she is.
“Stay with me,” Ragatha murmurs seriously, scooping Pomni into her arms as though she weighs nothing more than paper. Pomni can only grunt as Ragatha steps into her room, softly closing the door behind her.
Gently depositing Pomni onto the bed, Ragatha dashes to a drawer, digging feverishly. Blinking dumbly at the ceiling, Pomni holds her stomach with shaking hands. She blinks once… twice… Her eyelids feel impeccably heavy…
“Sleeepy,” Pomni murmurs, closing her eyes. She must admit, it’s a welcoming reprieve. In the right conditions, she could easily fall asleep right here. Maybe this isn’t too bad…
“Try to stay awake, hun,” Ragatha says, voice a blend of tenderness and anxiety.
Returning to Pomni’s side, Ragatha grimaces at the bloody mess that’s Pomni’s stomach. In her arms is a bundle of assorted patterned fabrics, ones she uses for her various crafts and sewing projects. The extra resources also prove to be useful when it comes to stitching herself up in times of need. When one’s digital avatar is made up of fragile stuffing and fabric, it’s best to be prepared.
Ragatha presses handfuls of fabric against Pomni’s bleeding stomach to staunch the flow of blood. She applies pressure to the wound, earning a pained gasp from Pomni.
“I know it hurts, baby,” Ragatha whispers, hands fumbling with the fabric that is nearly soaked through already. “But I need to apply pressure to slow the bleeding.”
Pomni shuts her eyes, no longer feeling relaxed. The pain is renewed; returned full-force to torment her. As much as Pomni hates her current circumstances, being more awake is considerably better than her prior trance.
Pomni focuses with all of her might on Ragatha’s gentle voice and kind words. It’s not often that she’s referred to in such a tender manner. It helps to calm her even the tiniest bit.
Opening her eye a crack, Pomni dares in glance in Ragatha’s direction. The older woman is folding the cloth over and over, trying to find dry patches of fabric that haven’t been soaked through with blood. Horrified, Pomni notices that Ragatha’s hands are stained with blood… Pomni’s own blood.
Pomni questions if blood can even be removed from Ragatha’s fabric. The possibility of Ragatha’s hands being forever stained makes the jester’s stomach turn far more than it’s doing now.
Pomni groans, watching Ragatha mop up as much blood as possible. Hearing the pitiful noise, Ragatha looks up, her determined expression replaced by a gentle kindness.
“Hey, hun, don’t look,” Ragatha coos, encouraging Pomni to look elsewhere.
Pomni tries her best. Beads of sweat gathering on her forehead, Pomni casts her gaze around the room. Every color is pastel; gentle and easy on the eyes. She feels considerably calmer here than she did in her own room. Then again, she’s no longer alone anymore, and that certainly provides her lots of reassurance.
There’s a piano in the far corner of the room, a toy box serving as the piano’s stool. Ragatha catches Pomni looking in that direction, and seems to gain a reminder.
“Oh yeah, that’s my piano. I used to play… back in the real world,” Ragatha says. Her voice trembles. She’s clearly fighting hard to remain composed and nonchalant whilst helping with Pomni’s current plight.
“It’s harder to play now, what with these hands,” Ragatha chuckles weakly, holding up her tabi mitten hands, which are currently stained a deep scarlet.
Pomni can’t bring herself to engage, too terrified and detached to muster a word. Her eyes remain locked on the corner of the room, breath caught in her throat with nauseating fear. At this point, she’s no longer admiring the room out of genuine curiosity. She can’t look anywhere else, a deep sense of dread creeping into her bones with every passing moment.
In a vain attempt to distract and calm Pomni, Ragatha continues talking, providing more pressure to Pomni’s wound as she does so.
“Oh, or are you looking at my toy box?” Ragatha asks, yet is met with no response. Ragatha continues as though this is no issue at all. “I sometimes take the plushies out and give them some love. Would you like to hold one?”
Once again, Pomni doesn’t give a verbal response. However, this time she does provide a quivering nod of the head, one just subtle enough for observant Ragatha to notice.
“Yeah? Of course, sweetheart,” Ragatha says, jumping up for just long enough to reach into the box and retrieve a gentle-faced brown bear plush. She makes her way back over to Pomni, tucking the soft plush into the jester’s arms.
Pomni hesitates in holding it, her blood-soaked fingers hovering inches from the light brown fur of the bear. Ragatha seems to notice this, and gently coaxes Pomni.
“It’s okay, squeeze him as tight as you need to. Caine can deal with all this blood later,” Ragatha reassures, flashing Pomni a kind smile.
It’s been a while since Pomni snuggled a stuffed animal. Holding the bear close to her chest, Pomni shuts her eyes tightly and squeezes the plush tighter with every stabbing pain in her stomach. She can’t be certain as to whether or not Ragatha is successful, only hearing the occasional “hmm” and “oh dear” from the doll.
“Pomni…” Ragatha pipes up after a great deal of silence between the two. Her voice tremors, and her evident uncertainty makes Pomni want to hurl on the spot.
“W-What?” Pomni stammers, impatience clawing at her insides with every moment she’s expected to wait.
“I… I’m trying, there’s just so much blood,” Ragatha whimpers faintly, casting aside the useless, soaked fabric and settling for her hands.
“Is… is the bleeding slowing?” Pomni asks, and this question seems to be the last thing Ragatha wants to hear. Breath hitching, the doll presses firmly against the open gash, earning another sharp hiss from Pomni.
“Um… not really,” Ragatha stammers, hands shaking. The fear in her voice is practically palpable as she assesses the damage done to Pomni’s midsection.
Pomni’s breathing hitches at this far from ideal response. Every inhale sends her brain spinning, a woozy feeling settling over her as she begins to truly process the amount of blood she’s lost. She feels so weak… every breath is a greater effort than the last.
“But-but I have an idea,” Ragatha adds quickly, stumbling over her words in a desperate attempt to reel Pomni back in. “It’s just not exactly… ideal.”
At this point, Pomni is willing to take anything. Head swimming, Pomni’s chest seizes as she sucks in a strangling, shallow breath, then a feeble exhale. Unable to collect enough air to sustain herself, she releases a choking gasp.
“Hey, sweetie, breathe,” Ragatha coos, going to rub Pomni’s arm, but thinking better of it upon regarding her blood-stained hand.
“What… is… it…?” Pomni asks between gasping breaths, certain her eyes have been reduced to scribbles if they weren’t so already.
Ragatha hesitates before dropping her supportive attempts at helping Pomni calm down. Pomni has proven herself to be stubborn on more than one occasion. She’d likely keel over from sheer pain just to await a true answer.
“O-okay,” Ragatha stammers. “I-I know it’s vastly different from your skin, and-and it’s gonna hurt a little, but--”
“Ragatha, Ragatha please…” Pomni whines, head falling back against the pillows as her body spasms with a fresh wave of pain.
“S-sorry,” Ragatha stammers. “B-But I have a sewing needle and thread. I can… I can…”
Pomni’s next breath catches in her throat. What is Ragatha implying? Could she really…? No… would Ragatha do that? Would she really do that?
“I can stitch the wound closed,” Ragatha whimpers. “Just until Caine can help you, okay? Is-is that okay, Pomni?”
Pomni doesn’t respond. She can’t respond. As a matter of fact, she can’t breathe. Room growing blurry in her vision, Pomni grips the plush Ragatha gave her in her arms. She’s uncertain as to whether or not her sudden panic is an abrupt panic attack or a result of her drastic blood loss within the last 20 minutes.
“Honey,” Ragatha coos, gently rubbing Pomni’s side. “Breathe, okay? Focus on me.”
When Pomni has no intention of performing self-soothing actions (Ragatha is hardly surprised by this, and bashes herself for even attempting it), the doll places a gentle hand upon Pomni’s, rubbing comforting circles.
“I won’t move forward without your consent, okay?” Ragatha whispers. “So I need you to take a deep breath, Pomni. In through the nose, and out th--”
“Just do it, Ragatha. God, just do it now,” Pomni growls, tone more harsh than she intended it to be. In ordinary circumstances, she’d apologize, but this is certainly no ordinary circumstance, and another bout of pain quickly silences the jester.
“O-okay,” Ragatha stammers, quickly removing her hand from Pomni’s and dashing over to her sewing supplies. She returns with a needle, scissors, and thread. The thread is, as expected, a direct replica of Ragatha’s “skin”, and is no match for Pomni’s rubbery flesh. How Ragatha will achieve this, Pomni has no idea. Nor does she particularly care. In too much pain to hold a thought, she groans into the open air as Ragatha readies her materials.
“Okay, I’m all set to get started,” Ragatha says. “Is it alright if I start now?”
Pomni’s only response is a weak sob, which is enough incentive for Ragatha to begin the stitching process immediately.
Using the scissors, Ragatha cuts Pomni’s costume around the wound, opening it up for further access. She stifles a gasp, worried she’ll scare Pomni further.
The sight is nothing less than dreadful.
The wound in Pomni’s stomach is a bloody mess, and painfully deep. How deep, Ragatha can’t be sure. The blood isn’t ceasing, oozing from an opening scarlet and violent enough to make thrill adventure-seeking Caine jealous.
Ragatha readies her needle, prepared to begin, but hesitates, listening for the sound of Pomni’s groaning, crying, anything. Something to prove she’s still conscious. Who knows what might happen to her if she passes out.
However, Ragatha is met with haunting silence. The jester’s pained sounds were enough to break the doll’s heart, however, she’d rather hear those than nothing.
“Pomni?” Ragatha asks, the panic evident in her voice. “You still with me?”
There’s a moment’s silence. Short in all actuality, though a decade for the anxious doll. However, finally, Pomni pipes up, her voice feeble and terrified.
“I’m… I’m here.”
Ragatha exhales a sigh of relief, shaking hands working to hold the needle steady.
“Good girl,” Ragatha whispers. “Stay with me, okay?”
Ragatha swears she hears a meek sound from Pomni in response, and she quickly gets to work, intent on completing this grueling task as soon as possible.
“I’m putting in the needle now,” Ragatha recites. “Take a deep breath in for me.”
Pomni sucks in an audible gasp.
“Good. And breathe out,” Ragatha says, and as Pomni exhales, the doll pokes the needle through Pomni’s flesh.
Pomni releases a weak cry at the sensation, a sound which nearly causes Ragatha to cease her activity. However, she pushes on, providing Pomni numerous “I know”s as a means of comfort. Tears swim in the doll’s vision, but she fights them back.
You’re helping her, not hurting her, Ragatha repeats to herself over and over.
Pomni groans, biting down on the stuffed bear’s ear with every sharp stab of the needle. Her teeth sink clean through, an indicator that they’ve morphed into their sharp form.
There’s a particularly painful jab, and Pomni momentarily sees spots in her vision. Gasping shallowly, her eyes begin to flutter with every passing moment.
Ragatha glances up from her work just long enough to notice this, and dread settles like a weight in her stomach.
“Hey, Pomni, don’t fall asleep,” Ragatha coaxes gently. “Talk to me, okay?”
“Hmmgh,” is all Pomni can muster, but Ragatha is relieved far more than words can express.
“Pomni, can I ask how this happened?” Ragatha asks, coaxing Pomni to talk.
Just keep her talking. Keep talking, Pomni.
Pomni releases a drawn out groan, and a gaping silence follows with no answer from the jester. Ragatha reaches up to rub her shoulder a moment, as though to rub life back into her.
“It’s okay, you have nothing to be ashamed of, alright?” Ragatha coos.
When there’s a lack of response, Ragatha desperately continues her attempts at reaching Pomni.
“Was this… self-inflicted?” Ragatha whispers, and finally, the woman is met with a responsive groan.
“N-no,” Pomni stammers weakly. This certainly eases Ragatha slightly. She continues stitching, the wound now about half-way closed.
Ragatha is about to ask another clarifying question, however, Pomni releases a shuddering breath before she can.
“A-adventure,” is all Pomni can muster, forcing Ragatha to piece everything together.
“Adventure?” Ragatha asks, and is unsurprised to be met with silence. “Did you get this during the adventure?”
Pomni replies with a weak “yeah”, and Ragatha nods to herself. She blinks dumbly, still confused… still completely and utterly lost as to how this could be occurring back in the circus. Any and all injuries are left behind the moment they step through the portal. The very idea of a debilitated Pomni bleeding out on her bed shouldn’t be possible.
“Returned… it h-hurt,” Pomni gasps.
“I th-think… the wound… o-opened,” Pomni stammers, and Ragatha has to strain to hear her feeble voice.
“Okay… okay,” Ragatha repeats gently, stupefied as to how this even occurred. She begins the last of the stitching, about ready to snip off the remaining thread.
“I’m finishing up now, okay? You’re doing so good, Pomni. So, so good,” Ragatha coos, listening to Pomni’s pained gasps and whimpers as she finishes up the final stitch, her needle accidentally snagging on a bit of Pomni’s skin. The doll apologizes profusely, though the jester is quick to grow quiet, reduced to pained sniffles.
“I’m done,” Ragatha gasps, placing aside her sewing supplies in an immediate rush to care for Pomni. She meets her eyes, watching the way the younger woman’s dark lids flutter in a desperate attempt to remain conscious.
“Pomni, hey… hey, stay with me,” Ragatha coos, cupping Pomni’s cheek, which is hauntingly cold.
“I-I hate this,” Pomni whimpers, and Ragatha strokes the jester hat that crowns her head. Whether she’s referring to her injury, Ragatha’s weak stitching job, or this digital world as a whole, Ragatha has no idea. However, it would be a lie to say that Ragatha has never uttered those words herself. All of them have at least once since arriving here.
“I know, sweetie, I know,” Ragatha whispers.
The plush bear is still tucked within the jester’s arms, its fur matted with blood, and stuffing is spilling from the ears where Pomni had bit down. However, amidst the gore and insurmountable horrors it had to endure, it still smiles gently at Ragatha.
Returning her attention to Pomni, Ragatha releases a quivering breath.
“Pomni… why-why didn’t you tell us about your injury sooner? Why hide it?” Ragatha asks, however, she doesn’t receive a response.
Pomni seems to have fainted, detectable from the gentle rise and fall of her blood-splattered chest. Ragatha heaves a sigh of relief at the sign of life. Although death isn’t possible here, with Pomni’s fragile state, Ragatha is on constant high alert.
Removing the stitching materials from the bed, Ragatha retrieves a heavy blanket from the drawer beside her bed. Draping it over Pomni and tucking the fabric against the woman’s small form, Ragatha turns off the light, bathing the room in gentle darkness.
Ragatha sits on her toy box, blood stained hands trembling as she watches Pomni’s unconscious form on the bed. The last thing Ragatha is is ready for sleep. So, she watches Pomni, making sure she’s alright. Unable to rid the image of her bloody, mangled skin, Ragatha rubs her hands, over and over, against her dress. Prepared to sit there until the digital sun rises hours later, Ragatha is glad to have been of service, no matter how much it scares her.
Unsure of how much time passed, Ragatha eventually fell asleep slumped against her piano, falling into dreams of stitching a particularly large teddy bear with Pomni right beside her.