11-09-2015, 09:05 PM
I know this was recent and all, but I seriously loved this post. This quest gave me so much muse and I spent hours on this post, perfecting it and agonizing over it and I'm really happy with how it turned out. This was Minette's final post in the Carnage torture quest two months ago.
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She hears the echo of his laughter with dread. Her body is aflame from within. Perhaps all she will ever know is pain. Perhaps that is exactly what she deserves. Why else would she be here? Surely heaven would have intervened if she did not deserve this fate. Steps echo outside her cell. They are strange, lighter and slower than those of the dark god. She cowers in fear of what fresh torture he has fashioned. She is broken. What more can he do? What more can he take from her?
The cell door slides open and a figure enters. She enters. She stands eye to eye with Minette, a mare of middling age with a white coat and black speckles who appears like a wraith, unmarked except for a brand on her left haunch. It is fully healed, red hairless lines shining in bold relief against her pale skin; a triangle encasing a star. The younger mare's brand is still dripping blood. But for age, they would be identical. A kaleidoscope of emotions collides in Minette's heart. She would swear the universe is still, that the stars are dropping from the sky. Nothing she knows about the world can explain the appearance of her older self in this tenth circle of hell.
The wraith mare speaks, saying what Minette already knows to be true.
“I am Minette.”
“You are not me.” the mare whispers, wishing she did not believe. There is a wrongness here, hiding beneath the too flawless skin of her older self.
The elder mare, the Not-Minette sighs. Minette is shocked to see a flash of pity in her eyes. But Not-Minette knows what is to come. She moves forward, speaking softly but without compassion. She has very little of that left after her years as the plaything of Carnage. “Let me show you. I will protect you from some of the pain, but I cannot keep all of it from you. You will experience what I have. You will see the future as I have lived it.”
The two wretched creatures touch. The cell disappears, and a life of torment materializes.
He takes her eyesight and they play a game, she and the dark god. She is held in place with the living chains. He tortures her, asking her to tell him what he is using to rend her to pieces. A correct answer yields a new device, a wrong one begins the process again. Her agonized screams echo through the lair. She is a quivering mass of shredded skin at the completion of the game.
He uses her body to test the mettle of his hell hounds. She is let loose, allowed to taste freedom (this is early days, when she still believes she might escape) before the monsters descend hungrilly, tearing her flesh from the bone . Always, the dark god calls them back just as she is at death's door.
He enters her mind, forcing her to watch the death of her daughter, the only one she loves, again and again. Each time Minette is powerless, watching as various fates befall her child; drowning, murder, hunted by wolves. After one, a vision so dark it cracks open her heart, Minette tries to take her life, but he will not allows his plaything to escape him. He lets her believe she will feel death's sweet relief before rescuing her from the brink.
He transforms, becoming a two legged creature, uncurling a length of metal tipped rope and creating criss cross patterns up her legs and down her back with his whip. He relishes the sound of her begging, her terror a symphony to his ears.
He rapes her. He finds new ways to make this invasion of her self a fresh terror. He likes for her to struggle, and he does not bind her. He is savage, not satisfied until she is weeping tears of blood. Other times he soothes her with false hope and gentle touch, before mounting her, fucking her and shattering her hope with the delight of a sadist.
He tortures her with fire and with ice and with wind and with the sound of his voice.
She will never forget the sound of his voice.
And in every year that comes, the Not-Minette, her future self, follows him willingly to her torment because as each day passes, she believes that she deserves nothing more. This is all there is for her. She was born only to know agony and despair at her master's hand. She forgets who she once was in the reality of who she is.
Each time he tears her asunder he patches her up, remakes her, so she can be repainted as his masterpiece. But even he, the great magician and the dark god, cannot do so forever. Time is disappearing for Not-Minette, and she knows her end of days is coming.
The vision fades. The cell of thorn and iron returns. Tears gather in both pairs of eyes
“This is what you become,” the voice is matter of fact, incongruous with the trickle of liquid dripping from her eyes. “But this fate does not have to be yours. You can escape.”
“How? How can I?” Minette's voice is parched. She feels as if she has lived an entire lifetime in a moment.
“I am the key, use me.”
Cold dread creeps up the younger mare's legs, settling in her chest. She says nothing, only waits.
“It would be a mercy.” The Not-Minette says gently, or as gently as she can manage, “killing me. And when I am gone, you will be free. We will both be free.”
“I can't do it.” Minette whispers, horrified. “I can't kill you.”
She thinks of Gryffen then. He would kill this mare without a thought, would probably relish the pleasure of blood staining the ground beneath his hooves. Perhaps anyone would kill this mare, especially if she held the key to freedom from hell, but Minette can not. She is not sure what holds her back. The thought of taking her own life fills her with a great revulsion. She has not yet reached the point where despair is so great that only ending it all will satiate her soul. And perhaps, she thinks, freedom will not be any better than what she will endure in the dark god's lair. He will be waiting for her. The white wolf.
Not-Minette would laugh derisively if she could summon the energy or the will. She knows what her younger self thinks. She knows that the white wolf is but a pale imitation of the terror she has known. Her younger self is a fool, naïve. But Not-Minette understands. She was once that mare. She knows what must be done.
“I can't.” Minette repeats, breaking their silence, her voice stronger.
“I know.” Not-Minette says, her body weary and her mind broken. She feel stretched over time and space, every cell of her being invaded and subdued. “Foolish girl. And so I will make the choice, and save us both from hell.”
Not-Minette closes her eyes for a long moment, and then whirls out of the cell and begins to run, leaving the open door behind her.
The hell hounds catch her scent immediately. They are always prowling, waiting for their master's playthings to be made available to them. Without his command to stay them, they will hunt to the death.
Minette follows at a short distance, as if drawn by a leash. Her fate is inexplicably tied up with the mare she could have become. She will not abandon her other self in her darkest hour. It will be her shame, held tight to her chest until the day she herself dies.
The wolves catch Not-Minette quickly. She is not a match for them. Even as she screams her anguish, she kicks and bites and bucks, spurring the hell hounds on to greater blood lust. They tear out her eyes, they rip chunks of flesh from her bone, but still they want more. In a final concentrated attack they pull the older mare to her knees, and then to her side, ripping open her stomach and devouring her steaming intestines. Long moments pass before Not-Minette's screams fade and her body stills.
Minette's soul feels shredded. She cannot tear her eyes away from the murder scene before her. She can only watch helpless from the shadows as the wolves feast, and wonder if her refusal to murder her Self was truly the right one.
Her last sight of Not-Minette is a broken, half eaten body sprawled on the ground, torn to pieces by hell hounds. She cries as if she will never stop, scrambling out of the cave to freedom.
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She hears the echo of his laughter with dread. Her body is aflame from within. Perhaps all she will ever know is pain. Perhaps that is exactly what she deserves. Why else would she be here? Surely heaven would have intervened if she did not deserve this fate. Steps echo outside her cell. They are strange, lighter and slower than those of the dark god. She cowers in fear of what fresh torture he has fashioned. She is broken. What more can he do? What more can he take from her?
The cell door slides open and a figure enters. She enters. She stands eye to eye with Minette, a mare of middling age with a white coat and black speckles who appears like a wraith, unmarked except for a brand on her left haunch. It is fully healed, red hairless lines shining in bold relief against her pale skin; a triangle encasing a star. The younger mare's brand is still dripping blood. But for age, they would be identical. A kaleidoscope of emotions collides in Minette's heart. She would swear the universe is still, that the stars are dropping from the sky. Nothing she knows about the world can explain the appearance of her older self in this tenth circle of hell.
The wraith mare speaks, saying what Minette already knows to be true.
“I am Minette.”
“You are not me.” the mare whispers, wishing she did not believe. There is a wrongness here, hiding beneath the too flawless skin of her older self.
The elder mare, the Not-Minette sighs. Minette is shocked to see a flash of pity in her eyes. But Not-Minette knows what is to come. She moves forward, speaking softly but without compassion. She has very little of that left after her years as the plaything of Carnage. “Let me show you. I will protect you from some of the pain, but I cannot keep all of it from you. You will experience what I have. You will see the future as I have lived it.”
The two wretched creatures touch. The cell disappears, and a life of torment materializes.
He takes her eyesight and they play a game, she and the dark god. She is held in place with the living chains. He tortures her, asking her to tell him what he is using to rend her to pieces. A correct answer yields a new device, a wrong one begins the process again. Her agonized screams echo through the lair. She is a quivering mass of shredded skin at the completion of the game.
He uses her body to test the mettle of his hell hounds. She is let loose, allowed to taste freedom (this is early days, when she still believes she might escape) before the monsters descend hungrilly, tearing her flesh from the bone . Always, the dark god calls them back just as she is at death's door.
He enters her mind, forcing her to watch the death of her daughter, the only one she loves, again and again. Each time Minette is powerless, watching as various fates befall her child; drowning, murder, hunted by wolves. After one, a vision so dark it cracks open her heart, Minette tries to take her life, but he will not allows his plaything to escape him. He lets her believe she will feel death's sweet relief before rescuing her from the brink.
He transforms, becoming a two legged creature, uncurling a length of metal tipped rope and creating criss cross patterns up her legs and down her back with his whip. He relishes the sound of her begging, her terror a symphony to his ears.
He rapes her. He finds new ways to make this invasion of her self a fresh terror. He likes for her to struggle, and he does not bind her. He is savage, not satisfied until she is weeping tears of blood. Other times he soothes her with false hope and gentle touch, before mounting her, fucking her and shattering her hope with the delight of a sadist.
He tortures her with fire and with ice and with wind and with the sound of his voice.
She will never forget the sound of his voice.
And in every year that comes, the Not-Minette, her future self, follows him willingly to her torment because as each day passes, she believes that she deserves nothing more. This is all there is for her. She was born only to know agony and despair at her master's hand. She forgets who she once was in the reality of who she is.
Each time he tears her asunder he patches her up, remakes her, so she can be repainted as his masterpiece. But even he, the great magician and the dark god, cannot do so forever. Time is disappearing for Not-Minette, and she knows her end of days is coming.
The vision fades. The cell of thorn and iron returns. Tears gather in both pairs of eyes
“This is what you become,” the voice is matter of fact, incongruous with the trickle of liquid dripping from her eyes. “But this fate does not have to be yours. You can escape.”
“How? How can I?” Minette's voice is parched. She feels as if she has lived an entire lifetime in a moment.
“I am the key, use me.”
Cold dread creeps up the younger mare's legs, settling in her chest. She says nothing, only waits.
“It would be a mercy.” The Not-Minette says gently, or as gently as she can manage, “killing me. And when I am gone, you will be free. We will both be free.”
“I can't do it.” Minette whispers, horrified. “I can't kill you.”
She thinks of Gryffen then. He would kill this mare without a thought, would probably relish the pleasure of blood staining the ground beneath his hooves. Perhaps anyone would kill this mare, especially if she held the key to freedom from hell, but Minette can not. She is not sure what holds her back. The thought of taking her own life fills her with a great revulsion. She has not yet reached the point where despair is so great that only ending it all will satiate her soul. And perhaps, she thinks, freedom will not be any better than what she will endure in the dark god's lair. He will be waiting for her. The white wolf.
Not-Minette would laugh derisively if she could summon the energy or the will. She knows what her younger self thinks. She knows that the white wolf is but a pale imitation of the terror she has known. Her younger self is a fool, naïve. But Not-Minette understands. She was once that mare. She knows what must be done.
“I can't.” Minette repeats, breaking their silence, her voice stronger.
“I know.” Not-Minette says, her body weary and her mind broken. She feel stretched over time and space, every cell of her being invaded and subdued. “Foolish girl. And so I will make the choice, and save us both from hell.”
Not-Minette closes her eyes for a long moment, and then whirls out of the cell and begins to run, leaving the open door behind her.
The hell hounds catch her scent immediately. They are always prowling, waiting for their master's playthings to be made available to them. Without his command to stay them, they will hunt to the death.
Minette follows at a short distance, as if drawn by a leash. Her fate is inexplicably tied up with the mare she could have become. She will not abandon her other self in her darkest hour. It will be her shame, held tight to her chest until the day she herself dies.
The wolves catch Not-Minette quickly. She is not a match for them. Even as she screams her anguish, she kicks and bites and bucks, spurring the hell hounds on to greater blood lust. They tear out her eyes, they rip chunks of flesh from her bone, but still they want more. In a final concentrated attack they pull the older mare to her knees, and then to her side, ripping open her stomach and devouring her steaming intestines. Long moments pass before Not-Minette's screams fade and her body stills.
Minette's soul feels shredded. She cannot tear her eyes away from the murder scene before her. She can only watch helpless from the shadows as the wolves feast, and wonder if her refusal to murder her Self was truly the right one.
Her last sight of Not-Minette is a broken, half eaten body sprawled on the ground, torn to pieces by hell hounds. She cries as if she will never stop, scrambling out of the cave to freedom.
Namaah | Sparrow | Honybee | BEASTIE