they're gonna clean up your looks

It had been days ago, in the Orchard, that Cy had found the knife. The blade glimmered, a brilliant obsidian. It would be easier to keep it sharp than a regular steel blade, and… well, and it was pretty. The weapon shone with a brilliance that was unlike anything Cyanide had seen, and she was enchanted by it. Pretty thing. Sharp thing. Hey– it was just like her. Pretty, sharp, and could absolutely be used to inflict some damage. Used. No, no that was a thought that she needed to push from her mind. Shit. Those were thoughts that the girl couldn’t allow in her own head. Not right now. Not now, not ever.

The thoughts that would hurt her. Imagine being such a mess that her own thoughts would do more damage than anyone that could ever catch her. Fight and flight rolled into one pretty package. Cyanide could be both of those things, and at the same time… what was she? Just a lost little girl. She could wear her ambition like armor. A silver tongue that was sharper than any blade. All of those things and yet… and yet what? Under it all, Cy was just the sad little girl that had been thrown from her home. Yeah, her thoughts would hurt her more than anyone else ever could. More than anyone else ever would.

Ambition. Her ambition was her armor, but it wouldn’t help her against the impending surge of predators. There were so many, and Cy was just… Cy. No, she’d arm herself. That was where her pretty, pretty knife came in. She was the pretty knife. The pretty knife was her. No, get your thoughts straight, girl. The wraith was weaponizing herself. Predators. Predators would surge through the summer, and in the fall they’d be even more restless. Cy would know– she was restless too. She was restless, and she needed to break through her own shell. Her head was spinning with it all. Too many thoughts. So many thoughts, all at once.

No more thoughts. There was work to do. Cyanide stopped on the beach of the river. The water here ran clean. She moved to the edge of it, carefully lowering the blade into the shallows and washing it against the coarse sand. Grime and dirt melted away as Cy scrubbed. It was calming, the act of it. The act of polishing, of shining. Pulling it carefully from the water, she could see the hilt now. It was intricately carved, some sort of antler– deer? Moose? Something like that. It had been stained dark, and the carvings stood out stark and pale. Yes, this would do her nicely.

Cy dried it in the soft grass before moving to the stripped hide that she’d prepared earlier. Yesterday? The day before? The passage of time was so strange. The wraith was losing track of the days, but it didn’t matter. Time was nothing more than an illusion. She didn’t need it. She didn’t need any of it. With careful motions, the girl measures her already beloved blade against the hide. Measure twice, cut once. Measure so many more times than twice, when you have limited resources at your disposal. Cyanide would be careful about it. Careful. Always, forever careful. Her breath was nearly held as she made the cut in the leather for the sheath that would keep her knife safe.

It would take some learning before she was able to use the knife effectively, impactfully in a fight. That was just fine with her. She could use all the practice and all the help she could get. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if Oki would teach her– at least, teach her what he knew. Did he know anything? Whatever, boys were dumb. Boys were dumb, but that one could be helpful. After all, he had to be good for something other than sitting around giggling with. Cyanide’s head rang with thoughts… sure, he made her feel like a normal girl. But there were always going to be a million things that reminded the wraith that she was far, far from that. She’d never be a normal girl. To be a normal girl would be too easy an answer. Too easy an answer meant that the answer itself was wrong.

For all of her cunning, for all of her ambition, Cy cannot mistake the ache that lives within her ribs. It’s an ache, a soreness, that blooms as she works away at her project. With the fine, sharp edge of her blade, the girl cuts out the pieces of the knife sheath, and the bracers that will hold it. From what she could tell, it would be easy enough to draw it this way. Draw it, threaten with it, and all of the like. Practice would be key, but that would come in time. It wouldn’t obstruct her movements, and she’d be able to access the knife if she needed it to get out of any other sticky situations– good. Cy could rest on that. She could allow herself to be good. Hell, maybe she could even be a little proud of it.

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