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his pale hands dance over your skin, your eyes void of signs you are even human. he knows you are, though, dolled up in pretty and frilly dresses that have blood-red skirts, white accents adorning them. you wouldn’t be surprised if it was your own that made them the special color. he always does say how important it is for you to bleed, to feel a pain he does.
he spreads your lips, the bright red lipstick smearing on his white gloves. a substance your can’t name enters your mouth and you become nervous – though, it will never be anything new. you are always nervous around riddles.
red smears onto your skin, he wipes his glove on you. “you’re already dirty”, he says, “i already have to clean you”. you know all too well that he enjoys it just a bit too much. his hands rubbing over your bare skin as he washes you, makes you feel a certain disgust. not to get clean, but towards him. more disgust that you can already feel towards a man who kidnapped you and forced you to love him. you will never be free.
tears fall from your eyes when he holds you close, he can’t pick you up himself, so he drags you. you know better than to make any types of noises, only allowing yourself to be tossed around like a doll he’d boughten rather than an alive being who can feel. you know he likes you better that way.
you’d walk with him if he hadn’t made you unable to. the graphic memories of screaming in pain and terror as he snaps your bones with a powerful strike of his staff. maybe that is the blood he has used to create the dye for your dresses and tutus. you didn’t know, and you weren’t sure you wanted to. you only wanted freedom, freedom he wouldn’t grant you.
he scoffs when you ask him, “when will i go home, riddle?”, despite knowing the answer you’re still persistent, you still ask the same question. it’s one of the only times you open your mouth – he complains despite being the one who made a rule where you can’t open until told to.
“you want to go home?”, his voice is different, a bit of a teasing edge fills it, “then run on, run back to mommy and daddy”. your eyes have a spark before it buzzes out, run away? run when both of your ankles have been snapped beyond repair, the only fix being magic that you don’t possess? your lip quivers and a smile graces the redheads' lips, he pulls you into his arms, “don’t cry, dove”, you know better too, “i’d hate for you to be sad”, you know that he’ll scream his head off of a touch of watery mascara stains into his white blouse.
“there’s always another day”, he says. but he knows better than anybody you won’t get better, the days will be spent at his side. you can’t go anywhere else because you rely on him, you have to be a gentle and kind love to him if you’d like your life to not be terrible – even though it is. even he knows that. but it’s to feed his sick desire, his disgusted thirst of having one to himself, one who can’t ever leave him alone.
today is a new day. a day of sitting on a chair, awaiting his return from the academic building. your hands reach for the mirror and claw at it, claw at the reflection of a doll-like human, of somebody you don’t want to face, somebody you want to not know. but, you know better than to do it for long, to have your manicured nails even have a slight flaw engraved into them. he’d noticed, and you know that more than anything.
would you be able to run? sure, but you wouldn’t get far, especially without notice. riddle permits you to run every day, he loves the sick feeling that grows whenever you begin to sob, begging for him to let you go him, and when he does, you realize there is nothing you can do to get home. broken ankles that you can only crawl with, standing giving you a pain unfelt before.
but, maybe, just maybe. it’s meant to be this way. meant to be painful, a painless love at first, falling for his every move, a smooth lover was what he seemed to be, even if he was obviously a bit on the controlling side. and when he’d charmed you enough for you to fall madly in love, he’d given you pain. nothing but pain.
you’ll run. like the rabbit he calls you, you’ll run even if it hurts. when he tells you to, you hold onto his until you reach the exit of heartslabyul, then he lets you run free. despite the feeling of bones breaking through skin and bruises becoming more prominent, you run, despite it all, you trust your instincts.
and you’ll get caught. it doesn’t matter how far you believe you’ve gotten, nor how great you believe you’re hidden, he’ll find you. chasing after you and finding his rabbit, you. and it’ll all hurt again. more and more, whether the way he’s seemingly gentle as he slips your pants off gently ‘loves’ you or if it’s the pain from bones sticking out from your flesh, the blood staining his sheets. he doesn’t care or doesn’t notice, and you hope that enough blood will exit the wounds you’ll die. and then you’ll be free.
and you are. even if he notices, he won’t stop, cries of ‘no’ and ‘please don’t’ leaving your lips as your last breaths in this world of cruelty, villains, and magic are nothing short of painful and disgusting. you wonder if this is what it’ll be like in your next life. shall you meet him again? or will you remain free forever?
who knows, you’re his rabbit. and a rabbit he’ll find again no matter the cost.