Saccharin『 yandere o.shots』

Sammy Lawrence (P2), mild ☣️

you should have followed henry's lead when he left.

the parts of your skin that were tainted with ink felt numb. like the circulation was cut off by something, that something being the ink. said substance looked iridescent under certain lights like an oil spill and seemed to move like it had a life of it's own. gross.

not as gross as your fellow neighbours, you'd rather have stalking shadows that only appeared in the corner of your vision than whatever they are.

they wobbled like an unbalanced tower, joints limply swinging at the movement. despite mostly being biped, they somehow still moved like they didn't have legs. those that didn't wobble, crawled using their mass to push themselves forward like a twisted version of a slug. the ones that didn't crawl, wept as they were taken by the demon. that's why first thing they do is learn to move, so that they can run from it.

they scrambled towards you like victims of a plague and you were their only chance at salvation, clinging and trampling you in hordes. whenever you 'killed' one of them, they'd pop like a bubble. leaving their inky, clot-ing remains on your clothes and a gently beating 'heart'.

you'd rather feel yourself slip than become those things, you've already come to terms with the fact that they probably used to be humans. but actually be a part of them? they had no mouth and somehow still mustered the ability to scream, verbally or not, they still got the message across.

all but one, you always saw him scuttle about, carrying cutouts and humming a song that you knew too well. sometimes spotting him watching you and noticing the uncanny lack of those pests whenever he was around.

(and the heavy thuds that came before their disappearances)

you considered getting closer but it felt like walking straight towards a spider's web.

but what wouldn't you do have a scrap of a (potentially) coherent conversation with another sapient? or better yet, not having to deal with another inky beast.

so towards the definitely not creepy room it is.

your footsteps were loud against the candle-lit floor, the sound echoing throughout the whole room. floor littered with wooden rubble and knocked over chairs.

the walls were plastered with pictures of someone you recognised as being you. be they credit drawings of you in the world of bendy, pictures from your document files and ids-- or even pictures that'd be found in newspapers.

the person behind this knew what you looked like before 'It' happened.

the places that werent totally covered with pictures were painted black by the messy graffiti writings of your name and almost unreadable praises. almost like someone desperately praying for a single sign of your presence.

all those things guiding you like tracks to a place that almost went unnoticed by you. an open room with a table, one that seemed more like an altar-- maybe a confessional-booth with the way another picture of you was put right above an audio-tape log. you wonder what kind secrets it will whisper.

"i remember your presence from way before i even knew how to properly worship you. how could i have been so foolish? blind to your true divinity like a sheep who strayed too far from it's loving shepherd.

you should have been worshipped properly. you deserve a church, you deserve an altar, you deserve disciples... people who will give their riches, bodies, minds, souls to you-- their everything to you.

you deserve it all, and yet... is it blasphemy to want to be the only one who worships you? the only one whose entire being belongs to you?

is it a sin to want to be the only one that makes up your throne, the one who sings you praises? your gospel? to be swept into your loving embrace and feed you ambrosia?

my grace... i fall to my knees at your feet and pray, i cannot dare beg for your forgiveness, for i know it is a heretical sin beyond salvation. i'd have to take matters into my own hands.

perhaps scourging myself isn't that bad of a idea, if it's for you, i'd do anything. so please, let me show how truly devout i am. 

love requires sacrifice, after all.

can i get an amen?"

something ran down your back. was it a shiver or a shudder? you don't know anymore.

all you know is that you heard the same last sentence again, echoing right after the recording finished, right behind you.

---

whoever gets all the references wins or something. idk, almost forgot to publish this
part 2 of gift for friend.