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Lilynette sans Giltine
Guest
Ah, when the intoxicating aroma of blood overtakes her sense of smell, a wave of sensations crash against Lilynette. In a period of seven years, the parasite had eaten away at all the joyful experiences life could bring, desperate to sate it’s hunger for something it would never experience; the life of a mortal.
She feels the cold nights of Valentine, enduring the azure-white desert nights without a single helping hand.
She relives the pain of experiments conducted on her very flesh, all for the purpose of appealing to a monster.
She meets death again, as the black acidic ichor burns the skin, twists the limbs, and crushes the skull.
She feels bile rise up from smiling day in and day out, diligently working her soul away to serve the prideful and undeserving.
But perhaps above everything else aforementioned, she feels HUNGER.
In this everlasting moment of conclusion, the both of them experience life in a painful burst.
Except that one crucial detail sets their experience apart.
One is a human man…
And the other, a beast woman.
When her frayed consciousness shuts down, what moves her instead is pure and unadulterated beastfolk instinct.
The wet muscle slithers past her lips, ever so slowly. In her twisted perception of time, this moment extends on forever more. Her tongue hasn’t even reached its destination, yet she could already taste the blood painting her dainty fingers.
And when they meet, a wave of ecstasy consumes every inch of her skin. The first lick is slow, measured, and collected. But with each one, the seven-year inhibitions are toppled one by one, and the desperate consumption ensues.
But this ichor is tainted—the blood of Hypokristalos is not unlike the oil of a machine. Lilynette sans Giltine is a woman of refined taste, and though this liquid is legitimate, it is nonetheless unfit for consumption. No, what she wants is the unique essence still lingering, and cursing, and burning, and controlling the crimson flux of her nest.
She raises her head from the depths of her hands, and her eyes explore her surroundings. In no time, she notices something, or rather, someone, who stands out amid flesh.
Yes.
There.
That’s it!
Even before they met, Lilynette always maintained a proper image. Her movements are deliberate, her voice pleasing to the ears, her disposition always warm and welcoming. In a sense, she is the shining beacon of hope in a freezing white hell known as Valentine.
But here, in the flesh hell of Hypokristalos, she’s exposed entirely.
The steps she takes lack lady-like composure.
Nothing covers the unveiled sanctity of her body.
Her blues, arguably her most beautiful trait, have lost their vivacious light.
On her hips, the wings of a creature most foul flap to the soundless rhythm of anticipation.
And then she stops, merely a step away from him.
Her sharpened eyes gravitate towards Escathon, and her hand extends forward, but… it stops. No. Though it is a wonderful tool to harvest what she wants, its metal cannot bleed. What she wants, what she needs, what she craves is…
From behind her lower back, a slender and ebony appendage gracefully extends, emanating a demonic allure. Its tip captivates with a distinctive silhouette, gently curving into a symbol connected to the namesake of Valentine. It slithers toward him, giving but the lightest of touches upon his skin.
No response. Again.
Stronger.
No response. Again.
Faster.
No response…
…And then, her inhibitions crumble. Lilynette takes the bold final step at the tip of her toes; her lips part, revealing unnatural canines that mercilessly sink on his left shoulder.
…
…
[TRIGGER WARNING: VIOLENCE, GORE]
…
[TRIGGER WARNING: VIOLENCE, GORE]
𝖆𝔥 ❤︎
What a delicious and sweet unholy ambrosia.
With each repeated suction, the desperate hunger urges her canines to dig deeper into his flesh. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his outfit, and a moment later, her sharp and elongated black nails erupt through his arms, piercing into his rib cage.
Do you remember, Bloodsworn?
How generous of you to part with so much gold!
And now the gold of her tresses is marred by your blood.
But the wound on his shoulder just won’t produce enough…!! And so, she comes to a simple conclusion. If she wants more—she just needs to bite more! His shoulder loses shape, becoming mauled flesh.
Do you remember, Bloodsworn?
Oh, how many times your red eyes set her heart aflutter!
And red your blood is.
The monster tears off her own nails before slithering her arms around his neck. There, her canines pierce his jugular with ease. It’s sweet, it’s wonderful, it’s abundant, bathing them both in red.
Do you remember, Bloodsworn?
When you first arrived, she offered sweets!
And oh, how sweet your blood is.
At this juncture she has lost what little reasoning is left, her sense of balance is lost, and the both of them fall onto the flesh of Hypokristalos. As soon as they reach the ground, lifeforce regrows her sharp nails.
Do you remember, sweet vulture?
C̷͇̣̚a̸̗͋̋ń̶͇͛ ̶͓̎͝I̸̞͛ ̴̖̌o̴̦̊p̶̬͂ĕ̷͇̊n̸͇̻͆̃ ̸̬͒̓y̶̰͋̕͜o̴̪͌͠u̶͊ͅͅ ̶̤̐ù̷͉̦̀p̷̏͝ͅ?̷̧͔̃"̸̭̊
How ironic it is that she tears skin and flesh, opening up his body to reach for his vulnerable insides.
C̷͇̣̚a̸̗͋̋ń̶͇͛ ̶͓̎͝I̸̞͛ ̴̖̌o̴̦̊p̶̬͂ĕ̷͇̊n̸͇̻͆̃ ̸̬͒̓y̶̰͋̕͜o̴̪͌͠u̶͊ͅͅ ̶̤̐ù̷͉̦̀p̷̏͝ͅ?̷̧͔̃"̸̭̊
How ironic it is that the soul cancer took the shape of a heart, and now, the canines of a monster sink into his beating heart, repurposing it into a glorious crimson fountain.
C̷͇̣̚a̸̗͋̋ń̶͇͛ ̶͓̎͝I̸̞͛ ̴̖̌o̴̦̊p̶̬͂ĕ̷͇̊n̸͇̻͆̃ ̸̬͒̓y̶̰͋̕͜o̴̪͌͠u̶͊ͅͅ ̶̤̐ù̷͉̦̀p̷̏͝ͅ?̷̧͔̃"̸̭̊
Carnifex was but a parasite of a dog with mange. It could never ask a question with such a delicate intonation. It longed to live a life of mortality, and thus, it consumed his servant for that purpose, digesting her life experience when it flashed before her eyes, on death’s door.
But there was one thing he could never digest, for digesting hunger is a stupid paradox, Bloodsworn.
… And that, you see, never originated from Carnifex.
The abyss upon which the vulture gazes…
… Is the hunger of none other than Lilynette sans Giltine.
Ignorance is a sin inherent to mortality.
What is the price you shall pay, Jin?
You shall pay with blood—blood for the blood Lily.
Until nothing is left of Theodore.
May you rest in a tomb of flesh built under crystals.
Rozamen.
𝕳𝔶𝖕𝔬𝖐𝔯𝖎𝔰𝖙𝔞𝖑𝔬𝖘,
𝖋𝔦𝖓.
𝖋𝔦𝖓.
@Jin
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