Chapter Text
Shoes click against the the stone of the hallway, faster than normal, as if trying to run away from something. Scrapes from hard objects thrown hidden underneath fabric, disoriented and dizzy, it's hard to tell if they even know where they're going.
They hurt. It's the first thing they notice as they stumble into what could be called their room even if it's basically just a mini library. They're tired is the next thing they notice, even though they're not supposed to be able to hurt they do anyway.
They managed to make it a few steps, closing the door behind them and locking it before they end up falling onto the floor, their knees resting against the cold hard tile. It eases the ache. They don't notice as tears begin to flow much less the onyx color the tears take on. Exhausted yet unable to sleep even if they wanted to, another "blessing" from being what they are.
They've tried telling cookies the truth, they've tried giving the answers others wanted, they've tried asking for guidance, they've tried they could and yet they still are blamed. What could they have done so wrong to deserve this? They have to have done something to deserve this, that much is obvious. Because if they didn't, then why are they still getting hurt? That's how it works, pain is a punishment for doing something wrong, for being wrong.
The Witches stopped answering if They ever answered at all, and their Soul Jam never offered guidance, all they have left is the voices telling them they deserve the hurt, that they're defective, pointless, absolutely useless. After all what's the point of a Virtue of Knowledge who can't even answer simple questions?
The room is spinning as more tears drip down, the voices are so loud repeating what they've been told over and over and over again: They didn't earn this power, what right do they have to wield it? It would just be better for everyone if they were out of the way. All they can do is mess things up. Defective. Defective. Defective. Defective.
Clawing at their chest they can't breathe, nails sinking in not even thinking about the fabric in the way. Everything is too much they just need some way to make it stop even if they don't wake up after, they'll probably just be replaced anyway.
Fabric is easily torn, dough not so much but with some effort blood starts to flow viscous and hot, ripping into themself they closed their eyes white-hot agony seeping into them with every tear, but they don't stop. Digging deep with blood pouring onto the floor faster by the second they're able to get a hold of their Soul Jam and pull.
They shutter, their body aflame, choking down a scream, tears falling faster as they rip themselves open, tearing nerves, blood vessels, and anything connecting the Soul Jam to them, almost animalistic in their desperation. A cacophony of agony and the voices plead for them to stop feel their ears, they don't. They need everything to stop too much to give into the pain.
Blood pools like spilled ink beneath them pouring down heavy and thick staining their clothes the color of night. Carving hole in their chest as with the final sharp pull the Soul Jam clatters to the ground, the cobalt artifact in a sea of ink. Blood only falling faster from the open wound.
Staring down at the jewel that once was a part of them they can't help but laugh, it's not a good sound more like mania twinged with twisted relief an actual joy. But it worked, they're head so quiet for once, with only their voice remaining. Pain still clawing at their body they breathe shakily, feeling so much better then they have in centuries and they're oh so tired.
Then they collapse, passing out in a pool of their own blood.