❝𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯?❞
A youthful woman remains in search of a job, to compensate for the boredom she has. However, a niche job ad envelops her eyes -- leading her on the path of...
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7.6k words: a synopsis of acts: time skip, angst, talks of the past, miscarriage, violence, anger, sadness, crying, panic attacks, comforting, reassurance, slashing, vivid details on panic attacks + potential more. proceed with caution; mind errors + vote!
a/n: I'm sorry. mind the drawing; I did it myself. 😋
A burning sensation's forever etched within your neck.
Your eyes grow so heavily towards a barely lit unknowingness, your frail fingers twitching so effortlessly. Your heart recklessly thuds, your teeth gritting from the unfathomable pain.
Not a single ounce of you yearns to soothe your body, only so desperate to apply recklessness — planting wounds upon the person who so desperately shot you. Applying further unpresentable wounds upon your body.
Grasping onto your neck, tiredness filling the entirety of you, you encourage your wailing state to seek revenge. To splay yourself upon such danger, to not tolerate such vengeance.
Yet, all of your efforts grow completely useless — particularly with the way you attempt to sit up. Only to be presented with a moonlight glow, your fingers itching to occupy something. Something that aids the boredom you hold.
But pushing past your acts of self-care, you recklessly push yourself into sitting up — gasping and groaning. Gasping and groaning at the head-splitting ache that eats at your neck.
It causes you to suppress your heaves, clutching onto your thudding neck whilst you glimpse at such an unfamiliar environment.
An environment that only holds a beautiful bed, a gentle vintage tint coating it. This isn't home; this place holds something that reeks of unknowingness.
Satoru. Toji.
"Where...the fuck...am I?" Groaning in frustration, you slowly contort your movements — compelling your weight into carefully inching off of the ample bed.
"Fuck...me," Straining from the unethical pain, you dig your rough nails into the palm of your hand, concealing an unearthing scream.
"Why...me?" Glassy tears so effortlessly taint your eyes, spewing down your supple cheeks.
