The_infinite_and_the_divine_(2020).txt

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 sadistic torturer hates my ass because I cant feel pain and even when I do I dont show it because Im a stone cold motherfucka

*talking loudly on the phone next to you on the bus* what do you MEAN my homunculus is transitioning

Can't be bothered to start a new file for what'll probably be a one off so this is the result.

*to ethics board* well im sorry you feel that way (lie detector attached to me starts blaring) but i thought my experiments were benefitting humanity (lie detector has started incorporating subtle amen breaks)

do you guys think vampires use stakes for kink like people use knives

Part of the process of my better coming to terms with being aromantic involved a fair amount of not wanting to 'miss out' on things like dating and Valentine's Day and all that, but like:

1- Thinking about it those things don't matter as much as I thought they did.

2- There are options which I have considered.

Ultimately those things would likely have ended up with me just playing a role I didn't want to. If I'm going to play a role, it should be one I enjoy, right?

And none of those things are exclusive to romance. Like I can take my friends for meals and send them letters and all that, right?

So much of it is down to other people's expectations, so why not play on them for personal amusement?

Go for that lovely Valentine's Day meal all dressed up but with no expectations, knowing just how people will react to 'such a lovely couple'.

(also maybe getting couples discounts I will always game scenarios for profit sorry)

Buy flowers or gifts for one another and hand them over in public, and see how people cluelessly smile and think they know exactly what is going on.

Act ever so slightly close and affectionate, and watch for the 'knowing' glances and looks, so full of vital misunderstanding.

Play the role, not out of obligation or need, but for entertainment and because it might be fun, and laugh about it later. Let other people be oh so wrong, and have oh such a good time as you do so.

I think it is well understood that guns lost their romance after rifling was invented and became standard.

I'm starting a collection.