With her sweetened breath [ONE PIECE]

14 - EAST OF EDEN

Days it had been since the incident on her room and still the ache of her arms and the twist of her lungs lingered there like a summer heat.

Xeno had been with her at every step of the way, blue eyes stuck on her so often as if reliving the memory on every blink. He had fussed over her on the morning after, every movement was stop by a cold hands, every shift was gifted by a vicious glare and plenty of disapproving sounds, she tried to argue that she was fine but the boy did nothing but pushed her to the bed and force feed her like she was a child -  It reminded her of her abandoned mother, always so caring, sometimes too much but she means well, they mean well.

the thought brings a different ache on her heart.

Eventually his care had overwhelmed her, doing nothing isn't what she need after such traumatic night. Stuck in the same bed - the same bed she had fallen off to without a breath on her lungs and arms aching on her side - had fueled the crawling anxiety and nervousness that settle deep within her chest. And as the time goes and the sky moves above, Xeno's once endearing eyes had turned into a much darker one, more haunting, more familiar, more dreadful, more dull..like the eyes of boy she had killed on her dreams.
She remember the twist of her lungs on its sight before she had to close her eyes. She told Xeno to leave her alone after that.

Instead of remaining on her room she chose to isolate herself on the confines of her dear workshop, she wouldnt let the stupid nightmare hold her back on her work. 6 days she had been there, elbows deep and stained with grease. Ignoring the repeated knocks at every morning and every random moments in the night, Garp would come by from time to time - telling her to come out so he could treat her in a newly open noodle shops on the edge of the town. It didnt work even tho her stomach growled on its thoughts. Kuzan had surprisingly dropped in as well, asking if she was okay and followed with how much he misses her pretty face. It made her eyes rolled. Tho she still didnt leave the room, basking on the smell of oil and gun powder that hang on the air at every whisper of the wind.

She didnt sleep a wink among those nights, frightened of the looming nightmare that continuously clung to her like a desperate ghost. Often times her eyes would close without her consent, lids heavy with the weight of her own exhaustion and mind slowly crumbling with the memories of her dreams. Sometimes her hands would shake, flesh numb  and bones trembling underneath all the nerves and was soon followed by a sudden heat that lick every corner of her skin - like there's an inferno soaring on her veins, melting her guts and burning her bones like a brittle wood.

Y/n was tired, terribly tired. She wanted to lay down on a grass, let her body vanish on the filthy dirt and feel as her bones decayed and become one with the earth. She wanted to shove her trembling fingers inside her skull, pierce the muscle of her brain and yanked the memories that continuously plague her mind like a disease. She wanted it all gone, the smoke of the war and the death that accompanies it, the strong scent of decaying guts and the pitiful cries of a fallen comrade. She wanted to remove the blood of the boy she had killed that stains her own hands, to have her nails peel it off like she was removing a used band aid - fast and all at once.

She stared heatedly on her palm, the light of the moon painting her skin and clinging on the cold stone wall.  Making everything look more lonely, more dull, more deprived of any joyous thing it once had.

Her veins throb underneath all the skin and bones, the ache that accompanies it now gone and replaced by numbness and a hint of burning heat. She curled her fingers with clenched jaw, frustrated and annoyed.

There was a blackness on the tip of her fingers that goes down halfway on her digits, like a charcoal it tainted her skin. As if she was burning inside out, like there was an inferno living on the palm of her hand - like campfire it blaze as the ashes of the burning log lick the tip of her stiff fingers.