bleed me your despair

Her luminous eyes dripped with tears. Her walls, the walls that hold her up, make her strong just... collapse. Moment by moment, they fall. Salty drops fall from her chin, drenching her luxurious chest fur. Perhaps these tears will help wash the blood out once she completes the abortion. Abortion. An abortion is a form of spiritual self-harm, it isn't an action she would take if the alternatives didn't scare her more. It is only healthful to bring a child into a world where it can receive what it needs. The world was cruel. Empty, void of any kindness and benefic emotion; he knew that first hand. Her own mother was left alone, she too had a fling in a way and she was her mother's daughter, a spiteful image, mirroring her actions. Only that she was not going to repeat her mistakes. She was not not going to bring this litter into this world only to be raised with a missing patriarchal figure, a mess of a mother and end with her being dead.  The witch press her crown against the ashen queen, strangely feeling something that could only be described as safety... Pups, so innocent... She was anything but innocent. She was trembling. I can't-can't stop.  Even as she presses herself against the other woman until their fur becomes one, fine hair threads mixing together until you could not know which was which it still shakes, it still trembles. It's raw, everything, raw tears, raw emotions. I can't stop... I can't stop. Why can I not stop those fucking tears? she sobbed into her chest unceasingly. The pain flushed over her in waves, minutes of sobbing broken apart by short pauses for recovering breaths. I cannot have them, Leera. I will not have them. When she cried there was a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound and maybe in fact it was. The witch never passed through the trauma of her mothers death nor the one of her own blood abandoning her for a second time like she was a piece of fucking trash or the butt of a cigarette that is being thrown and crushed after being used. I have to abort them. Help me abort them, Leera. the sobs were stifled at first as she attempted to hide her grief while vocalizing her fears, then overcome by the wave of her emotions she would break down entirely, all her defences washed away in those salty tears. When she at last turned her visage to the ashen queen she was a picture of grief, loss, devastation. It was the face of one who had suffered before and didn't know if hse could do it again.

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