Crying Again

"This blade is so sharp, it can cut open feelings, dreams, thoughts..."

She continued talking, while she made me bleed using her obsidian dagger. However, I couldn't hear the rest of what she was saying amidst my screams.

I was tied to a chair, but I don't remember how I ended up like that. The rope was tight against my skin, lubricated with the blood of my wounds.

She sat down on my thighs, and started to carve out a hole in my chest. It was now my heart that she was after.

"So many things that must be taken out of you if you wish to succeed" she whispered in my ear, just before licking the blood off my temples.

I could feel how she was removing parts of me or at least of who in my pride I thought I was. At least until then. Until she came.

I could see her lips, drenched in my blood, curving to form a smile, while she kept cutting away pieces of me.

When she took my heart out, I was surprised I didn't die. 
She left it on a rusty tray, while I cried.

I don't remember now if that was the first time in my life I had shed tears. Or if it was the last.

I closed the wound myself, using the remnants of my old self as string, a shard of my feelings as the needle.

Then, she stood up, and in a whisper she asked: "Shall we begin?

-

Did you enjoy the story?
Do you want me to write more of them?
Buy me a cup of coffee and keep me fueled!