Chapter Text
Familiar, too familiar.
Hatred could feel the cold floor beneath their body, like always.
Yet, the air felt dry, too dry, not normal for the air of Wrath, their domain.
They couldn't feel any of their limbs, had they finally died?
Limbs, too fragile, too weak, like fibers of silk.
Hatred could only stare up, into the endless abyss, which was pulsing red.
Like a heart, the red pulsing slowly faded out, like it had flatlined.
They couldn't feel their own pulse.
Were they simply a husk of their former self? Were they the one they knew?
Hate, the only thing they felt was hate, not only for everything else, but also for themself.
Finally, they tried getting up, their non-existent bones crumbling under them.
Was this purgatory? Or was it hell? They didn't know, they didn't know anything.
'Pitiful', they thought, still trying to get up.
And finally, their legs had finally stopped being such failures, actually supporting their weight now.
Their flesh felt heavy, that was weird, was it supposed to feel like that?
Hatred looked around, expecting something to happen.
Yet, nothing.
There was nothing there, but only them.
It bothered them.
Though they hated everything, it still felt somewhat creepy being all alone.
Who would hear their cries of help out here in the deep, lonely, endless void?
Their skin hurt, everything hurt, what was wrong with them? They scoffed, trying to ignore the overwhelming pain weighting them down.
"—HELLO, ANYONE THERE?"
Yet, nothing answered them.
So they walked forward, trying to look for something in this desolate void, they didn't know what they were looking for, but they were looking for it.
Still being weighted down by the pain.
It felt like their skin was sizzling, like their bones were being repeatedly broken and healed.
And like they were starving.
Had they ever starved? Had they ever had the need to eat? Surely not, right?
Hatred huffed, already feeling tired.
It was like their energy was being absorbed with every step they took.
Like they were being stared at, yet, there were no eyes, or anyone.
They curled up on the ground, already exhausted.
Was this their personal hell? Were they doomed to walk forever?
It felt too familiar to that nightmare they had.
Could emotions even have nightmares? Could they even have dreams? Could they even have hope for anything?
Could they even love?
Hatred was overthinking, questioning everything.
Questioning their own existence.
Questioning everything about the reality they were currently experiencing.
It was suddenly cold, so cold.
All they could do was sleep.
Sleep their pain away.
But that wouldn't work.
Nothing would work.
Nothing would work from distracting them of the fact they were aching with pain.
It was horrible, pure agony, even.
Hatred only stared at the endless void as they slowly drifted off to "sleep".
'Familiar, too familiar...' were their last thoughts.