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You smell sugar.
Your stomach lurches, but you’re salivating. Hungry. Starving.
You stagger forward through the dark void. There’s a shape, lying on the ground in front of you. You drop to your knees, and lift your dagger. You know exactly where to cut.
The blade plunges down, sinking into –
You startle. You could have sworn you saw an arm move.
You breathe in and out, and tighten your grip on your dagger. You slowly slice down the length of the shape. In a few seconds, the cut is long enough. You set your dagger aside and sink your fingers into it, tearing it open. It widens, with awful squelches and spurts. Something wet hits your cheek. You ignore it.
The cut reeks of sugar. You look down.
Oh.
In the dim light, you can see that there are bones in the way.
You reach in and firmly grasp two adjacent ribs. Then you pull, twist, break.
The bones crack and give way in your grip. You toss them aside.
You dig your hand in. Your gloves are soaked. You wrap your fingers around your prize and pull.
Strings snap. It comes out quickly, dripping dark. Your cheek burns.
You raise it up to your mouth and bite down.
It tastes like burnt caramel.
Your stomach cries. You wolf it down, hands empty in seconds, and lick your lips. For a moment, you feel disappointed that it didn’t last longer. Your stomach is still empty.
There’s another shape nearby. You pick up your dagger and pull yourself over to it.
It seems bigger, but you’re not sure it will yield a bigger meal.
You dig your blade in. Hands shaking with hunger, you pull the knife through cloth and flesh. Drop the dagger, get your fingers in, tear open. Break the ribs, ignore the look on its face, take hold of what you need.
You yank. Arteries and veins rip off. You rock back with your own momentum when it comes loose.
You bolt it so fast you barely have time to realize it’s in your hands.
Your stomach screams.
You lick the last of it off your fingers, gaze landing on the next one. You snatch up your knife and crawl over.
This one is very large. You can only hope that it will be enough to dampen the hunger pangs.
Your head spins. You rest your arm on it to steady yourself.
… You thought for a second that it smiled at your touch.
You feel sick. You raise your dagger, arm shaking, using the hand you rest on it as a guide. The blade falls.
Deep, jagged cut. Rip into it. Your sleeves are drenched in sweet, dark liquid. Crack open his ribcage. It’s all sweet. Dig your fingers in. Take it. Pull.
This one is big and soft. You almost crush it on accident. You squeeze, just to see how it gushes and collapses under the pressure.
You try to savor it, but it’s dissolving in your hands. You have to swallow it quickly.
The sugar is nauseating, but you’re starving. Every bite you take fills you only with more hunger. Your stomach is gnawing on itself, screaming to be filled.
You pick up your dagger. The blade is no longer shiny.
There is one more.
You drag yourself across the floor to its side. You sit up, trembling. It’s so small. But you need it.
You stab.
It screams.
You need it, you need it, you NEED IT!
Your stomach is collapsing in on itself, there’s sugar inside you, your mouth, your lungs, your head, on your face, your cloak, your hands, you slash frantically get it open tear it bre ak it pull –
You almost gag at the squelch as you yank it out. You cradle it in your hands. It’s so small. You’re so hungry.
You take a bite. You retch, unable to keep it down. There are tears pouring down their face. They’re screaming, crying, screaming at you.
You’re…
Hurting them?
Suddenly, you’re bathed in harsh, bright light. A star stands over you, expression blank.
They gesture around you, at the shapes. You look. You see. Your family, lying on the lightless floor, mangled and bloody, ribs and bone fragments scattered around them, deep holes in their chests.
You drop Bonbon’s heart.
They’re all looking at you, angry, betrayed, devastated.
You throw up blood, and dark, chewed muscle. You vomit sugar, and stars, and lightless sand. It pours out of you, on and on, until you ache all over and your tears mix into it all.
Finally, you manage to choke it down. You lay on your back, shaking uncontrollably.
You’re empty, empty, but you’re bursting, too small for your insides. There’s a beat in your chest, sugar coating everything. You snatch your dagger. You need it, the hole in your stomach is pulling y ou apart, spli tting your head, killing you. You raise the point over your own chest.
Another hand takes it.
You stare up at your own face. It stares back down at you. It’s covered in blood, and sparkly grains. Its eye looks hollow.
The knife plunges into your chest. Your empty hand drops to your side.
You can’t move. You watch as you slice down your torso.
Blade discarded, fingers reach under your skin. You r ip yourself open.
Dark, sweet blood escapes you, only to spray on your cloak. Eye still on your focused, hungry face, you feel yourself take hold of your ribs. There’s a cr ac k, and they give way. They clatter on the ground next to you.
Your hands dig deep into your chest, around your pounding, filling heart. You tighten your grip and p ull.
Your heart strains against the pressure, so stubbornly refusing to leave its cage.
You pull harde r it hu rt s it h urts and suddenly there is a hole in your chest.
It’s cold.
Sitting over you, you raise your dark, dripping prize to your lips. Your eye is dark, your face pale. Your stomach is killing you.
You open your mouth wide and take a bit e
“Sif?”
You jerk awake, almost knocking heads with the person next to you.
Isabeau pulls back. “Woah! You alright, Sif?”
He smiles at you. It’s strained, but he doesn’t have a hole in his chest.
Your hand flies to your heart, feeling your own unbroken skin. You breathe in, and out.
“Did you… have a nightmare?” he asks, smile straining further.
It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.
You nod, shrinking in on yourself. You wish you had a cloak collar or a hat to hide in.
Judging by the window, it’s early morning.
You wince. “Did I wake you up?”
His smile brightens, and he shakes his head. “Oh, no, Bonbon just came by to say that breakfast’s ready. You up for crepes?”
You hold your stomach for a moment. There’s no lightless hole in it. You’re just hungry.
You offer him a small smile. “Crepes sound great.”