Crucified…(WoD)
"Every finger in the room
is pointing at me
I wanna spit in their faces
Then I get afraid of what that could bring
I got a bowling ball in my stomach
I got a desert in my mouth
Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now
I’ve been looking for a savior in these dirty streets
looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
I’ve been raising up my hands
Drive another nail in
Just what God needs
One more victim
Why do we
Crucify ourselves
Every day
I crucify myself
Nothing I do is good enough for you
Crucify myself
Every day
And my heart is sick of being in chains
Got a kick for a dog
Beggin’ for Love
I gotta have my suffering
So that I can have my cross
I know a cat named Easter
He says will you ever learn
You’re just an empty cage girl
If you kill the bird
I’ve been looking for a savior in these dirty streets
looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
I’ve been raising up my hands
Drive another nail in
Got enough guilt to start
my own religion
Please be
Save me
I cry…"
-Tori Amos, "Crucify"
The only sounds in the silent church are the steady drip of blood and the sharp whistle of her breath through her teeth.
Drip. A harsh exhale.
She shakes the sweat and blood from her eyes weakly as she hangs, her curly blond hair sticking to her cheeks and breast in lank tangles. God knew how long they’d leave her up here, or even how long she’d already hung, spread-eagled and naked upon a large wooden X, her wrists and ankles pieced by long silver spikes and her throat encircled with a collar of razorblades. The Lady had spoken gently of the collar, told her that she expected the girl to hold out until the pain became too great; the collar was an easy out for her if she chose it, the blades severing the veins and arteries in her neck before the shift was complete, ending her suffering in a matter of moments.
No one could say the Lady wasn’t merciful.
Dark hair bobbing against her milky skin, her tiny leader had smiled sadly, run her fingers along the girl’s sweat-slick cheek, and told her, "I’d like think we were friends once, Kaylee. I’d like to believe you were simply misguided. I’d like to think you weren’t thinking of what my bastard bother would do to me and the others who serve me should he triumph over our cause."
The Lady’s eyes grew flat and cold. "Or my son."
Drip. Drip.
The pain in her back and hips was tremendous, dwarfing the near-numbness in her limbs. She squirms a little, cries out at the sudden radiating agony running the length of her thighs and into her gut. The human body was never intended to be held like this, and her entire body rebelled with sparks of fire and flashes of ground glass. Tears well up in bloodshot brown eyes as the sobs threaten to shake her body, driving pain deeper into her body. The tears spill over, run down her cheeks and mingle with the blood spattered on her skin.
"Why, Kaylee?"
His voice echoes in the empty church hall.
"Why?"
She lifts her head to meet the somber crimson gaze of Kurogane. Flinching from what she sees there, she hangs her head, shakes it wearily. Footsteps approach the X, stop only a few feet from her. A gentle hand grasps her chin and lifts her eyes to meet his.
"I tried to help you, tried to help all of us." She can hear tears riding that voice, and her heart sinks deeper, hides beneath her gut like a beaten dog. She looks him in the eye, those eerie scarlet eyes, and says nothing.
"I’m not an emotional person, Kaylee. Not like what I think were looking for. And for that I’m sorry. More sorry than you can ever know. I wasn’t there when you needed me and you found someplace else to go." He pauses, looks down. "Someone else to go to."
Drip. Drip.
She says nothing. There is nothing to say. He looks back up at her, his carmine gaze heavy and unwieldy like a ship keening. She tries to hold his eyes but her strength fails, forcing her to drop her gaze and let her head hang loose on the frail stem of her neck. He is weeping openly now.
Hands encircle her throat. Her head snaps up with a gasp, but he hushes her gently. She feels the collar of blades tighten briefly, then go slack and fall loose. He stands back, the collar in his hands.
"Free yourself, girl. I’ve done all I can."
He turns and walks away, his back straight and his shoulders set. But there is something defeated in the way he walks, something broken, and the sight of him this way breaks some tiny part inside of her, shatters it like crystal and sends it flying.
The heavy oaken doors slam shut with gut-wrenching finality.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Within moments, all that remains in the silent church is a blood soaked wooden X punctuated with long silver spikes. Of the girl there is no sign but a series of scarlet footprints ending abrubtly at the foot of a full length mirror next to the sacristy.
Drip.