They Got Rid Of The Classical Elements & Replaced It With Something Called The 'four Harmonious Insects'

A sharp crack rings out, echoing through the room.

She looks at her arm, wrenched out at an unnatural angle, hand limp, joints broken.

She looks at the person standing above her, a sadistic smile stretching across their face.

She looks at their hand. She sees the hammer they hold.

Three more cracks ring out.

She lies limply on the floor, limbs broken, helpless.

She smiles back.

The person above her moves, not with the sharp violence that broke her, but slowly, deliberately, with care.

They take a set of keys from their pocket. They flick through them to find the smallest of the keys. They lean down and kneel on the floor beside her. They reach out, hold her shoulder, move the key towards her.

And it falls into the keyhole right by her shoulder. It turns. A soft, gentle click is heard. Her arm falls out of the socket, landing amongst the shards of porcelain that surround her.

She sees the metal framework of her arm, warped and distended by the blunt force of the hammer. She sees her joints, shiny from wear and use. She sees the last remnants of the ceramic that serves as her skin, either affixed to the frame or driven into the material that forms a part of her.

Three more clicks ring out.

Her limbs are strewn about on the floor around her.

The person beside her leaves for a moment, and returns carrying a bag. They sit back beside her. Reach out yet again, but with neither the hammer nor the keys.

If her body could feel, she would feel the cold of the new metal, not yet worn or tarnished, as it works its way into the setting within her shoulder. She would feel it again, in her other arm. Again and again, in the attachment points just below her hips.

Her miss stands over her once more, looking proud of their work.

She raises her new arms, uses her new hands to push herself off the floor, stands on her new legs, walks forwards on her new feet.

She loves her maintenance.

Slide to the left! *scraping metal noise*

Slide to the right! *scraping metal noice*

Criss cross? *THUNCK THUNK*

a pupy is a species of dogie that needs a nap

She has been here for some time now. Maybe two and a half years? She hasn’t paid too much attention to it.

In her role as head maid, she is proud to say that she has established a strong rapport with those working under her. She is polite and proper, but they also know her to be kind and fair. She will help out where she can, they know.

She has grown rather fond of some of them.

One of them in particular has grown rather fond of her.

This one steals longing glances at her when she thinks she isn’t looking. This one tries to work with her wherever she can. This one’s hand brushes against her dress for a second too long when they pass each other in a corridor.

But Ophelia keeps things professional.

At least, until she cannot any longer.

One day, she sees her talking to one of her colleagues. He is giving her the same glances and looks and eyes that Ophelia normally receives from her. He is talking, and empathising and reassuring and making offers of assistance.

He moves closer, hand stretching out slightly.

Something within Ophelia snaps.

A sudden rush of possessiveness flows through her. She must have her. She must make her hers. She simply must.

She swiftly glides between the two of them, and snaps at him to get on with his work.

She turns slowly, and enquires as to her wellbeing. She praises her for her excellent work. She compliments her.

All of it is sincere. She has no need to lie here.

She notes the slight blush in her face. The way her pupils dilate slightly. The way the look into her eyes shifts from one of timidity and hesitation into a predatory one that rather reminds Ophelia of herself.

Ophelia asks her if she would like to take a break, and takes her upstairs, and invites her into her room.

The second the door swings closed behind them, Ophelia is near tackled off of her feet and carried to the bed.

She is placed on her lap, and they stare greedily at each other, drinking each other in.

Her hand deftly moves to Ophelia’s face, caressing her cheek before descending to her chest.

They kiss.

Ophelia, through practice and effort, is just about able to warm her lips when they touch.

Her other hand slides beneath Ophelia’s skirt.

It moves up her thigh.

Her hand pulls back suddenly. She pushes herself away from Ophelia, and Ophelia falls from on her lap. She stands, and stares at Ophelia, sprawled and discarded across the bed. She raises her hand to her face, and it is covered in blood. There is far more than there would be under any other circumstances. It is not blood, she realises. It is vitae.

She had let herself forget these things. She let herself forget that Ophelia was nothing like her. She is a human woman and Ophelia is nothing more than a corpse, brought to a semblance of life by whatever foul substance flows through her veins. Whatever Ophelia pretends to be, they are nothing alike.

Look at her, staring up from the bed, eyes wide and mouth agape. She’s not even crying. Is that even possible? Maybe she isn’t even human enough for that.

She runs from the room.

Ophelia tries and fails to pick herself up from on the bed.

She lies there for a while.

She rolls over, and sees vitae leaking out from around her eyes. It seems she is cursed to never be able to truly hide her emotions.

She sits up, and stands in her room for a few minutes, collecting her thoughts and composing herself.

She walks downstairs to find the other servant from earlier.

She finds him, and in her sadness and rage and inhumanity she eviscerates him and disembowels him and twists him into all kinds of painful and beautiful shapes and drains him of his blood and takes him apart and puts him back together again.

When all of this is done, she deigns to kill him.

She leaves him as flowers in the entryway.

She returns to her room, and feeling just a bit less human than she did when the day started, she lets the daysleep take her.

the Ice War on Europa...

fuck theyre not kidding

me impatiently to the little french cat boiling me in a stew: chat am I cooked

Her nails were the first thing that was taken away.

The woman in front of her stands, holding her head between her hands, whispering soothing words. Promising it won’t hurt very much at all.

Her knife reaches out again

Her skin falls away from her, revealing layers of fat which follow in turn. Her muscles part, and are quickly and precisely removed. Organs are cut out, excised one by one so as to avoid making a mess or disturbing the ongoing work. Veins and arteries are removed with impossible cleanliness.

She doesn’t want to stain anything, after all.

Bones and eyes remain, so are taken as well.

She can’t avoid making a bit of a mess with this bit.

Splinters of bone fall to the floor. Her skull cracks, splits, shatters. She is removed, then her brain is tossed aside.

Then, from a place where she sees and feels yet cannot act, she watches as her miss truly begins her work.

Steel is melted, poured into molds, beaten out on an anvil, and formed into a beautiful new skeleton for her. Her miss works with ceramics to make her cold new skin. She works with bronze and brass and precious metals to build her lovely joints.

She spends weeks crafting new eyes for her doll.

When she wakes up, after months of watching the affection of her miss pour into her new body, she moves quickly, sure of her purpose.

She embraces her miss.

KIsses her with porcelain lips.

And offers a response months in the making:

‘Thank you.’

i saw a giant billboard for a plumber that was basically just this

"love is what makes us human" actually it's 'select all images with boat' but go off I guess