ꜱᴜʙᴊᴜɢᴀᴛᴇᴅ | [ᴛᴏᴊɪ ᴢᴇɴ'ɪɴ 𝙭 ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ 𝙭 ᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜꜱ]

Incunabulum

"Is duty the only thing that matters to Monkeydog?"

"The fu-?"

His words were wasted on his breath.

Mesmerised, he tilted his head to the side, slowly, as if he were idly drifting through a medium far thicker than air, his ill-defined gaze now interlocked with hers: all the dark shades of expression gone, erased and banished from his face and his mouth then hung slightly ajar, a trickle of spit forming at the corner of his botched lip, giving him a rough-hewn, loutish appearance.

How-?

"Monkeydog..."-she whispered softly, defusing the short-wired budding neural connections that were attempting to connect the dots in his mind; for the thauma carried on the zephyr of her voice had beguiled and lulled him with a sweet troth, to penetrate his recesses of heart and...

"Free me...", he mumbled, emotionless, as his lids shuttered and shielded off his eyes from the warbling lilac light filtered through the dome. 

Y/N delved further to invade his psyche with her voice and vows. It worked like a charm, numinous, like a stimulant to bliss:  Monkeydog's pupils bled further out of focus, quivering slightly, the cognitive disturbances she provided all too alluring to resist - why should he, anyway? It had been such a long time he'd had just one fucking break and it felt like an unconquerable migraine had suddenly dispelled, leaving only a sense of restful finality in its wake.

So the brute of a man, so much larger than her, remained kneeled, done obeisance, placid and wrapped in a good-natured acquiescence like he were waiting to receive a manna from above, the gift of amnesty, as the rhythmic pulse of his warm breath paired with the slowing beat of his heart appeared as the only quality signs of even being alive. 

Y/N licked her chapped lips, gone dry, in an attempt to wet the bow of her mouth - her gaze continuously flitted over his stupefied expressions in a manic pulse, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, for fear he might dispel the visceral enchantment she had placed upon him, at any moment. 

But she suddenly felt confident.

"Monkeydog...?"

Monkeydog stared blankly into the void.

Y/N sighed out, her pupils expanding into the conspicuous colour of her irises, the fluid pulse of theurgy entrenched in her fibrils, brittle teeth, nails, skin, bold blue veins gradually dispelling her qualms, stilling the trepidation.

She had begun to acquire a familiarity with her arcane nature. She quite liked the sensation. And the taste of power that came with it.

Edging her deeper, the thaumaturgic energy that resided in her urged her to wade into the darker moors of the mind and the pounding throb of blood in her ears began to resonate with her inner penetralia. And his too: for blood held such a powerful, primordial alchemy that all it would take was a finger, or perhaps two, to slip beneath the provisional rags wrapped around his forearm and part the folds of his slashed epidermis and...

The drag she perceived was all too overwhelming. Just the very idea of it had her in on the verge of insanity. Resistance wasn't an option: only perverse satiation was.

So Y/N's finger tips found the schism cut into his flesh, the lesion that could open her to infinite doors, to the ways of perception - she circled the wound beneath the makeshift bandage, gently at first, to then glide into the weeping, unhealed flesh.

The more Y/N gazed into those luscious, coalescing green eyes, half closed and fickle like hydrargyrum syrup, the wider became the gaping chasm leading into Toji's soul.