I grabbed hold of his upper arm and pulled, one forceful yank that dislocated his shoulder. His gurgled screams reprieved my soul—it absorbed them like a sponge does water. But there was so much water, the sponge was not nearly enough. I needed more, I neededmuchmore.
I let go of his neck only to hear his pain better when dislocating his other shoulder. Then I went on and dislocated his hips, too. He looked like a marionette without his puppeteer—with his misaligned and loosely hung limbs. I relished every cry, every beg, besotted with his futile screams.
But I grew hungrier, like a drug addict who couldn’t care any less about overdosing and just wanted more, more, more.
I grabbed hold of his lower leg and yanked it forcefully while pressing down on his thigh. His knee snapped awkwardly. Then I went on and wrenched his other one. His screeching cries turned frantic, they pierced my ear drums, but I only basked in that pain, too.
My soul embracedallof it—it sang and danced, revelling with joy.
More.
I wanted to drench myself—no, I wanted to submerge myself in his fear. I needed to destroy every part of him. And that’swhen I grinned at him and snapped his nose back into its place. I healed it.
Oh! He felt it! And his face!
His tear-streaked face trembled at the realisation of the infinite number of times I could snap his same bones over and over—an endless torturous game of breaking bones.
Bones, like those bones of surprise that Cordelia had shared with me once. The day she called me by my name for the first time. I still remember how it sounded on her lips, how I wished to hear more versions of it in different breaths and tones. My own thoughts reminded me—whom he had hurt—and that sweet little distraction turned into a raging sea of restless turmoil, as angry as the Wrathwater Depths.
So I kept breaking him apart, bone after bone after bone, and not just his fingers, his ankles, elbows, and wrists, too. He often fainted, so I healed as needed and slapped him awake, only to break him once more.
As much as I wanted this game to go on for an eternity, I had somewhere else to be, someone else to be with. And as much as I wanted to rip his flesh apart and paint the room red, I couldn’t risk this son of a bitch interfering with my plan of alliance—the reason why I was sent here. I wouldn’t let him win a fight after his death.
Dawn neared, and so it was time to put him back together, bit by bit. I started by snapping his fingers back in their place and ended with relocating his hips. All bones were sealed and back in their sockets except for his dislocated shoulders…not just yet.
When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself upright.
His brows knitted and he lowered his gaze, finding resistance. He saw himself standing on a chair and I knew that he could tell his belt was wrapped around his neck. It gave mepleasure, watching him try to reach for it with his useless arms and failing.
I allowed him some time to take it all in.
I listened to each of his choked begs and stammered apologies. “I—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt her, I won’t ever look at her, I promise, you—you can keep her, take her with you.” It was hilarious, really, how he thought he had a say in any of that. Of course I was going to fucking keep her.
“Please, please, please,” he cried, watching me close our distance.
I tapped at his chest and thanked Boreas that her necklace was in his breast pocket and nowhere near his soiled trousers.
“Ah, there you are,” I murmured, letting the necklace dangle between our faces before tucking it safely in my pocket and tapping on my own chest.
My next satisfied smile informed him that this was finally goodbye, and that’s when his apologies turned into pleading and frantic calls. “Help! Help! Somebody! Help! He’s going to kill me. Anyone, please!”
“You can scream all you want, no one’s going to hear you.”
“No, stop, please stop,please.”
I didn’t stop. And before kicking the chair from beneath his feet, I told him, “Remember this while you rot in Daekon’s Hell: you arenothingand you arenobody.”
His eyes grew wide at the instant lack of oxygen, at the snap of his neck. He desperately kicked, like a fish thrown out of its bowl.
I did not blink.
I replaced his shoulders into their sockets and made sure he was whole. Then I waited.
I watched his eyes bulging out of their sockets and his tongue protruding out of his mouth.
I inhaled deeply and let out a long exhale as I watched his life leaving his eyes, my body and soul somewhat sated—the eagle finally freed from its devious traps. But now, the longing, the ache for her, replaced my earlier rage.
Before I left, I wiped his bloodied face clean, then let the cloth burn in the kitchen stove.
