Atem x Reader ☆ A Shadow in the Dark

Chapter 9

I run my hand along the wall as I walk. My fingers brush over every detail, and I touch every dent, carved by the sin of this place. The darkness grows weary, a seemingly impossible thing. A lighter shade of gray breaks through the tainted black, upon which I'm allowed notice of my progression through the walkways. The blood red colors stand out, and I would believe to having smelled something displeasing. The lustful eyes of my enemies express a growing pang, which I identify as hunger. I myself am meek prey, waiting to give myself up submissively when all is finished... they're waiting for me, in all eagerness. This growing sense of danger is their way of showing me impatience. And yet, their timing is carefully planned. I mustn't go too quickly, for what fun would be attained? I'm meant to suffer, and therefore am stalked silently by the shadows. With every step I take, for every place I go, the countdown on my life ticks... and ticks... and ticks. My dying heart moves with the rhythm of the clock, but more so out of fear than anything. I go nowhere alone, naked I am exposed for my tormenters' enjoyment, prey to the inhumane... prey to the unknown.

My thoughts become unnerving. Beads of sweat make an appearance on my face, adding to my worn look. They just as easily fall, leaving a tear like impression when they brush over my cheeks. My fingers dig themselves unconsciously into the jagged edges of the wall, cutting me badly. My hand continues to drag. My skin opens more, for the purpose of leaving behind its copper scent. I don't wince at the pain; I only embrace what I do.

"Do you like that...?"  I taunt.

Blood drips from my hand as I force it into the wall harder, showing the darkness what it wants from me, but what it can't have. I come off strong, almost crazy. I'm not. I'm simply returning feelings... I'm still in control. I don't walk anymore, and my hand stops to rest. My eyes are hidden by the shadow of my bangs. My expression can't be read. My head is tilted downwards, just enough for my eyes to make contact with the floor. My mouth opens slightly as if to gasp, but I make no noise. My head spins, and without proper thinking, I clutch it with my damaged hand. This time, I do wince, and sense hits me as if my brain had finally clicked. My hand is pulled in front of my face, revealing what I had done to myself. My arm begins to shake in a somewhat panicked way.

"What the hell am I doing...?"

I clutch my hand into a fist, watching the blood as it trickles down my arm. I begin to feel the effects of my actions.

"Argh!"

It stings bad, like it should. Pain throbs and pulses through my hand, and by imagination, the feeling grows when the air picks up. My eyes widen, releasing a look of shock. I try to rid myself of this. Ignoring everything else, I breathe in. I try to calm myself, but such a task proves difficult for me alone. Soon after, I'm steadied by a comforting presence; one I know too well. With this, the panicking stops. However, this agonizing pain stays with me. My mental capacity is slowly diminishing, though it is without a doubt strong. I utter a low growl. I'm so careless. I start doing stupid things like this without thinking, and I learn to endure the consequences. Physically, I'm being worn down. I feel this now, like an illness that plagues me. My hand bears these scars, and I've nothing to wrap it in, other than my clothes. Quite demeaning for someone such as I, but deserving. I don't want this pain, but I need it as a reminder. Perhaps I was letting myself know this, or maybe it's possible that...

No, it wouldn't be right. I use thoughts to cut off my sentence. I won't deal with such terrifying words right now. But, I can't escape the fear... all I assume to know. That is why my body shakes, though I pay no attention. In the air, a cold chill rises, affecting the way I think. I tear off my drape which hangs low in front of my tunic. Its shades were once pure, but now they fade. Everything around me, so dull and depressing. It seems as if color has left. This world knows none. I lay the piece of cloth on the underside of my hand and begin to wrap it. I tie it awkwardly, but enough for my convenience. This isn't a game. I'm not allowed to get cocky. The situation here is getting more delicate, and my chip of life has already been cast. What's more, I feel that my grip is loosening. When... just when...?

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Hey guys, sorry for not posting in a while. If you read my message, you would know that I was on vacation. I don't know how many people read it, so instead I'll post here next time I decide to take a break. And, I'm posting this today since I'll be busy tomorrow, so you guys get this a day early. Enjoy!