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scallioncreamcheesebagelhttps://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=336750#cmt336750
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 593 (2786 for the full story)
This is chapter 4 out of 4 in a series! AO3 for all chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463
Previous chapter: https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=327534#cmt327534
THE FOURTEENTH DAY
No one came their way for over ten days.
Antigone had grown accustomed to starvation, given how little the townspeople had fed her during her imprisonment. Hyacinth was not, and a fragile human at that. They were reduced to licking the mixture of spilled mule’s blood and wine off the rocky ground, their only consolation being that they weren’t alone in doing so.
Their only blessing was that it rained, the water trickling through immovable rocks much like Antigone would have liked to. It kept Hyacinth alive, but also made her cold, despite how they huddled. Antigone had nothing in the way of body heat to offer her, not being one of the living.
Hyacinth developed a cough, and her swollen ankle looked worse for wear by the day, pus making its home there. Her scent was perpetually off, the aroma of illness unmistakable to Antigone’s keen nose. They had long run out of anything resembling food.
That was to say, Hyacinth had long run out of anything resembling food.
“Drink,” she offered, as she had every day. Antigone knew now to turn hurt head before Hyacinth could even offer the weak, shaking wrist.
“Enough. You’ve had my answer. You need your blood more than I do, this is hardly the longest I’ve gone without.” Antigone shoved it away, firmly pressing Hyacinth’s hand to her side.
“And when I don’t need it anymore?” Hyacinth countered.
It was not the playful banter Antigone had grown used to. The play-argument only reminded her of her hunger, it was true, but it was something. It was a show of care, it was evidence of Hyacinth’s spirit.
This was not that.
“Humans always need blood, especially the weak and ill. I’ve killed enough to know.” Antigone forced her voice sharp: this was no longer a game. Perhaps a dose of fear was what Hyacinth needed to end this charade.
There was no fear in Hyacinth’s eyes anymore, not like their first days in the tunnel. She reached up to cup her face. “Not the dead ones.”
“You’re not dying! This is not funny. Enough.” Antigone swatted her hand away again.
Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “You take your own ‘enough’. Surely someone who’s killed can see when one is dying. Be practical.”
“When have you ever been practical?” Antigone snapped. “You’re the one always promising this magical land of beauty and kindness that will welcome me with open arms. You must know that’s untrue. Look at me, Hyacinth. I am a fanged, clawed beast of the night who steals babes from their mothers and drains them dry. A single person freeing us before you perish is surely more realistic than that.”
“I would have made it so,” Hyacinth sighed. “This, then: should I die, promise you’ll waste none of me.”
“It is a shitty promise.”
“You would deny a girl her last wish?” Hyacinth’s hand brushed her cheek again. Even with the cloying sickness, it was tantalizing, given how long it had been since the mule-wine. Antigone did not swat it away.
“...Fine. I promise,” Antigone conceded at last.
Hyacinth smiled. It had been more than a week since Antigone had gotten to see it. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go. I wish we had more time.”
She closed her eyes to rest as Antigone stroked her hair. She did not open them again.
Antigone let loose a wail when Hyacinth’s heartbeat stopped, but no matter how she screamed, nothing could fill the silence it had left.
And she had a promise to keep.
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 593 (2786 for the full story)
This is chapter 4 out of 4 in a series! AO3 for all chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463
Previous chapter: https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=327534#cmt327534
THE FOURTEENTH DAY
No one came their way for over ten days.
Antigone had grown accustomed to starvation, given how little the townspeople had fed her during her imprisonment. Hyacinth was not, and a fragile human at that. They were reduced to licking the mixture of spilled mule’s blood and wine off the rocky ground, their only consolation being that they weren’t alone in doing so.
Their only blessing was that it rained, the water trickling through immovable rocks much like Antigone would have liked to. It kept Hyacinth alive, but also made her cold, despite how they huddled. Antigone had nothing in the way of body heat to offer her, not being one of the living.
Hyacinth developed a cough, and her swollen ankle looked worse for wear by the day, pus making its home there. Her scent was perpetually off, the aroma of illness unmistakable to Antigone’s keen nose. They had long run out of anything resembling food.
That was to say, Hyacinth had long run out of anything resembling food.
“Drink,” she offered, as she had every day. Antigone knew now to turn hurt head before Hyacinth could even offer the weak, shaking wrist.
“Enough. You’ve had my answer. You need your blood more than I do, this is hardly the longest I’ve gone without.” Antigone shoved it away, firmly pressing Hyacinth’s hand to her side.
“And when I don’t need it anymore?” Hyacinth countered.
It was not the playful banter Antigone had grown used to. The play-argument only reminded her of her hunger, it was true, but it was something. It was a show of care, it was evidence of Hyacinth’s spirit.
This was not that.
“Humans always need blood, especially the weak and ill. I’ve killed enough to know.” Antigone forced her voice sharp: this was no longer a game. Perhaps a dose of fear was what Hyacinth needed to end this charade.
There was no fear in Hyacinth’s eyes anymore, not like their first days in the tunnel. She reached up to cup her face. “Not the dead ones.”
“You’re not dying! This is not funny. Enough.” Antigone swatted her hand away again.
Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “You take your own ‘enough’. Surely someone who’s killed can see when one is dying. Be practical.”
“When have you ever been practical?” Antigone snapped. “You’re the one always promising this magical land of beauty and kindness that will welcome me with open arms. You must know that’s untrue. Look at me, Hyacinth. I am a fanged, clawed beast of the night who steals babes from their mothers and drains them dry. A single person freeing us before you perish is surely more realistic than that.”
“I would have made it so,” Hyacinth sighed. “This, then: should I die, promise you’ll waste none of me.”
“It is a shitty promise.”
“You would deny a girl her last wish?” Hyacinth’s hand brushed her cheek again. Even with the cloying sickness, it was tantalizing, given how long it had been since the mule-wine. Antigone did not swat it away.
“...Fine. I promise,” Antigone conceded at last.
Hyacinth smiled. It had been more than a week since Antigone had gotten to see it. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go. I wish we had more time.”
She closed her eyes to rest as Antigone stroked her hair. She did not open them again.
Antigone let loose a wail when Hyacinth’s heartbeat stopped, but no matter how she screamed, nothing could fill the silence it had left.
And she had a promise to keep.