Work Text:
Amory looked at herself in the mirror.
She looked worse for wear than she last remembered— tousled hair, dark eyebags, a haggard countenance, paler skin, gaunt cheeks, and tired eyes.
Her breath didn’t hitch, yet tentatively, slowly, her hand moved to touch her face, her cheek, her chin, her jaw, and especially her neck. Lingering for a few moments just over her lips.
She stiffened.
Amory sighed, her hands falling by her sides; what was she doing?
“I should get ready.” The woman mumbled to herself, turning the tap on and leaning down to wash her face. The cold water stung harder than she thought, it wasn’t refreshing.
After moving through the motions of her own, slow, practically unsustainable routine— Amory grabbed her jacket, hung right on her rack. Just besides the bottles she never bothered to throw away.
Her hand hovered over the door knob, ghosted it, practically.
Yet, she stiffened as a familiar presence appeared behind her, Amory’s hand fell at her side at the sudden.. company of her own mother.
“You look paler than usual, dear.” Her mother says, a coo in her voice, honey laced deeply within her words, it was saccharine, dearly melting together in an attractive sludge of love and affection.
Amory stiffened, a stilling candle.
“I’m always this pale.” She snapped, neither hot or cold, nor lukewarm. Amory did not turn back, her gaze right at the door in front of her. She did not want to see her mother.
Her mother chuckled, it was raspy, old— the one you’d ought to hear from people who lived for far too long. “Well, not that pale!” She huffed, her voice twinkling with a sickly sense of pride.
Amory did not move.
“Have fun, okay?” The mother smiled, her child did not turn back to see it.
“I love you.”
She grabbed the doorknob, twisting it open as her mother’s words rang silence in her ears, the oak doors shut closed, and the desolate house left empty once more.
The sunlight from the ever turning star casts a ray onto her face, she feels warmer than she has, in a while.
It was a sunny day today.
Amory reached into her bag, dishevelled, old, vintage. Grabbing her car keys as she turned on her beaten old honda, a white one— gifted from her grandfather.
A small sigh left her lips as the car turned on.
The cold hit her like a storm, her expression remained still. The only crack was only a wince, the only smudge in her routine was the fact that her car made just a bit more sound.
Her phone lights up, a call. It rings— Amory wonders; who could be calling her now?
She grabbed her phone, a decrepit thing, broken down and almost impaired, but it works. It has memories, Amory was never sentimental though.
The phone doesn’t budge, doesn’t turn on after one or two clicks.
Her breath drops into a hitch as she sees who calls her, and it is not evil, not fiend, not devil nor villain or murder. Not a scammer, telemarketer, not anything like that.
It is her friend, Marie.
Amory, for a second— lets her ringtone stretch out, her world warps around her like playdough, beaten, bruised at every ring. She faintly recognizes the trembling of her hands.
She does not know why it’s trembling.
Maybe she does.
Amory didn’t know why, nor did she try to ration why. She answered the call with a jittery swipe of her thumb, she has not yet moved to drive her broken down honda.
“Amory!” Marie’s voice, her voice. Goes through the call, it is sonorous, harmonious, like dew dropping from the sun, warmth melting over all it can see.
Oblivious to her thoughts, Marie continued. “Girl, where have you been? You missed our hangout last week. I ought to be mad..” Her friend teases, Amory is still.
She swallowed.
“Did I?” A dry chuckle left her. “I’ll be sure to remember, then.” The grip she had on the steering wheel— inactive or not, was tight. Her knuckles turned white just from the sheer grip.
“You better remember! I’ll hold this on you.” She huffed from the other side of the call, energetic, rich and strident. Dare say resonant.
The car starts up, the phone nestled right on Amory’s shoulder. “Haha, you’ve always liked holding grudges, didn’t you?” Her shoulders never untenses, but she indulges.
On the other side of the call, Marie would’ve beamed.
“Awh, come on Amory—! Oh! Are you starting up your car now?” She asks, it was sweet.
Amory made a sound of affirmation. “Mhm, if you don’t want me to crash.. then maybe quit being so loud on the other side of the call.” She leaves her driveway, heading down the road.
Marie giggles, it reminded her of bells, or windchimes. Maybe both, maybe none.
“No can do! Hey hey, let’s meet up today. Your favourite cafe!” There was a pause on the other side of the call, then Marie continued. “That place, the one with the beige aesthetic you like?”
“What was it called again?” She hummed over the call, thoughtful.
A gasp, “Oh! Jackson’s Café. I’m free for today, and you are too, come on. You don’t want to make me upset, righttt?” Amory imagines Marie pouting, but she can’t seem to conjure up an image other than strange familiarity.
Another dry chuckle leaves her, now in imitation of a snicker. She looks ahead to the road, face dull.
“How’d you know about that place, Marie?” She asks.
It was quiet, that sort of stringy silence that left you wondering, but it simply left Amory emptier than she’s ever been.
“Don’t you remember?” Her friend laughed, jubilant. “You introduced me to that place, silly! Don’t you remember?”
She doesn’t, but maybe her memory was failing her.
Amory took a deep breath, and gave Marie the benefit of the doubt, after all, her memory has been an issue since she was younger.
“It must’ve slipped my mind, then..” Amory swallows, her tongues dry, she should drink more water.
“It’s fine!” Marie responds cheerfully, she always does. “Anyways, I’ll see you there soon.” She adds on, Amory never agreed.
The call ends.
The car grunts in pain, of aching motor oil and off hinged wheels, a puff of smoke aches, coming from the back of the honda with a rude thrust.
Amory grabs her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she places her phone, wallet and car keys inside of it. She briefly noted the fact she should buy some fresheners for her car soon.
The sunny rays, lightened over the time, hit her head, it was softer now.
Marie had been soft.
Jackson’s Cafe loomed over her, a towering, familiar and loft building, of browns and less. Flowers and portraits, the scent of coffee mingled with her senses, it was familiarity that brought her here.
Amory walked to the entrances of this very cafe, she could already see that familiar bob of hair right at the distance, situated in one of the booths she regularly sat at.
That was her, her friend, her Marie.
There was no reason to hesitate, so she didn’t. Amory stepped in like this was her home, her steps said otherwise, as if she strutted upon needles and not wooden planks.
She walked closer— and closer, to Marie.
Amory stiffens, not out of shock, nor was it anything else, just the slow, almost unfamiliar way Marie had turned her head towards Amory.
Marie smiled, her eyes curved to crescents as she seemed like the happiest person on Earth, just to see Amory.
“Amory! Amor!” She waved her over, already motioning for the other to sit on the opposite side of her at the linen and white-furred booth, and as usual, her friend obliged. Slotting herself comfortably onto the familiar chairs and seats.
Marie was bubbly, not quite soft, nor was it that vibrant you’d feel from spring light, it was blazing— she’d dare say scorching.
Amory cracked a smile, almost unsure, almost genuine, she placed her hands on the table with measured motions. “What’s with.. the vibrancy today, Marie? Something good happened?” She asked, her head tilted.
Marie cracked a giggle, shaking her head as her hair followed her, her grin was wide, wider than Amory has ever seen it, that natural, light blush dusting her cheeks.
“Nothing really, I just.. haven’t seen you for a while, you know.” Her friend hummed, her tone taking a teasing sort of melancholy, she stirred her spoon inside the cup— oddly meager.
“I'm glad you’re here, is what I mean to say.” Marie added positively, her tone had that star-like twinkle towards it, her eyes flitting across her friends hands, staring straight at her face.
“Has your eyes ever been that.. strong of a color?” Amory blurts out, it was mostly a habit of her to blurt, but her eyes truly were.. brighter than it has ever been.
She rolled her eyes, a small laugh playing at her lips, she brought her hands over to her lips in a way that seemed controlled and both natural.
“Don’t be so silly, has my charm blinded you so?” She hummed coyly, playing with a strand of her hair. “I’m messing with you, the sun plays tricks on my eyes, don’t you know?” Marie giggles.
Amory laughed, she did not know if it was unsure, nor was it forced. It felt like an automatic response when she was with her.
“I guess, I mean— we haven’t seen each other for a while as well, so, that’s probably why?” A smile, just brushing her eyebags, her posture straightening as she stared into Marie’s eyes.
Marie’s smile only widened, not tightened, eyes crinkling up in glee as she reached over to brush, then to grab Amory’s hand, cupping it with hers; a motion of affectionate friendship.
“Probably, have you already forgotten details about me?” She huffs teasingly, then she lets go of Amor’s hands, all too suddenly. “How long again, 2 weeks?” Marie ponders.
She nodded, “It has been 2 weeks, haha. Guess we.. both are really busy, huh?” She fidgeted with her ring, and for some reason, Amory continued. “Work has been busy lately, something about a new project, I wanted a headstart on it..” She shrugged.
Marie nodded, crossing her arms demurely. “Well, I guess that makes sense! But you really can’t leave me like that without a note, you know?” She eyes her, a half hearted pout playing at her lips.
She broke out into a fit of snickers, she shook her head.
“Come on, you should really order something.” Marie took a sip of her drink, it looked like a blend of tea, and of something else, a deep and dark intoxicating color, almost like wine.
Amory doesn’t know if she can stomach dessert or a normal drink, let alone a meal. “I’m not really that hungry, to be honest.” She responds, still fidgeting with her ring.
Marie frowned, not quite playful, not quite bubbly, nor was it something similar to a pout. It was a frown, eyes downcast, her body was still, not that responsive, and most certainly the opposite of her expressive state.
Then, her frown curves into something else, that expression a friend would wear when they know something is going on in their friend's life.
Gently, almost alluringly, she pushes forward her drink.
“You can have mine then, free of charge.” The tea swam in her vision, a stillness, a wine-dark color and the aroma of flowers and metal wafting off the porcelain.
For some reason, Amory didn’t deny the offer. Her mouth only curved to a small smile, not quite reaching the eyes, but not forced as well.
“You’re too kind to me, Marie. But this really isn’t needed—” She was cut off.
“Please drink, you know how worried I get..” That frown again, it felt so unfamiliar on her face. “At least, if not for yourself, then for me?” She adds on, her mouth did not move to a smile.
The tea was pushed further into Amory’s grasp, the aroma of the tea had quickly started becoming intoxicating. It was not wine, Amory was sure of it, but her hand grasps onto the handle, thumb just ghosting over the porcelain.
Marie’s shoulder untensed, slumping slightly from their raised state, her face breaking out into a soft, gentle grin. “I knew you’d listen to me, Amory!”
“Of course, you’re my friend, right?” She tentatively lifted the tea cup, her tone was not quite unsure, nor was it accusatory, her grip did not tremble, nor did her eyes crinkle up, and nor was she downcast.
Marie only smiled. “The bestest.”
She drank it, the taste was warm, vibrant, overpowering her taste buds in a way that eluded her very senses, it was not intoxicating in a way it was alcohol, it was intoxicating in a way it invaded, conquered.
Amory places the cup down, she didn’t know what she expected, it was a good drink, undoubtedly good tea.
“Was it nice?” Marie places her hand on her cheek, staring right at Amory’s eyes, not like she was assessing her expression, but in a manner like she was imprinting every emotion that Amory showed to her mind.
Amory inhaled, and exhaled.
“It’s pretty good, Marie. Thanks.” Her fidgeting stops, and she had no doubt that Marie noticed.
“No problemo, girl.” She pulled the cup back, that soft, wood-like screech playing out as she brought it back near her vicinity, a gasp. “Wow! You really emptied it, huh?”
Amory fidgeted with her rings, again. “I guess I did, it was that good.” She says, staring right ahead at Marie’s eyes. It was not dissection, but observance.
“I’m glad.” Marie’s eyes flitted over to her rings, humming a song she never told Amory.
Observance didn’t quite bring her anything, that smile still seemed to stretch her skin too wide. Wasn’t it painful?
She drove back to her driveway, her car keys clinking, the beaten Honda causing as usual— far too much trouble than it needed, not that Amory cared, at least, not now.
She stuffed her keys and belongings inside her back, departing from her now parked Honda to her house’s entrance.
It was dark inside, the lights weren’t turned on, a cavernous abyss she called her abode.
She opened the door, her hand on the lightswitch as the house brightened up miraculously, years of history hung on her walls, some dusty, some cleaned regularly.
Amory grabs her phone and charger out of her bag, hanging not only her bag, but her coat and shoes at the hanger.
She pauses as she hears the tap running.
Then, her nose scrunched up, the smell of leftover takeout invading her nostrils— she hasn’t thrown away the trash, nor has she washed the dishes, has she?
Amory rubs her face, rubbing at her eyebags. Before towards her kitchen aisle with a little too much sluggishness. But she managed eventually.
Arriving, she notices a few bags of takeout strewn across the counter, a mountain of dishes stacked high up with the carelessness of a child, and there— stood only the wispy figure of her mother.
Her mother sighs, gentle hands rubbing at the plates with the precision of only years in practice could have.
“You’re not quite the cleanest person, you know?” Amory stood still, seeing her mother wash the dishes tenderly, more tender than she had ever seen her act.
“It’s fine though,” She places another cleaned dish aside on the rack, presumably to dry. “At least your mom is here, isn’t she?” She laughs, a haughty one.
Amory did not deign her with the response, she viewed her movements with stagnant poise.
“Not talkative today? That’s fine with me.” She hummed, shaking her head like Amory was nothing more than a disobedient child. “Why don’t you help mother out with the dishes, Mory?”
“..Okay.” She mumbled, quiet, walking towards the wispy, dark figure of her own mom. Her expression didn’t change, but she shivered in the freezing cold.
She grabbed the plates, rinsing them under the water, the motions of rubbing them with dish soap, sponge and wetting them all over again was repetitive in a way that was expected.
It was shortly shattered, her mother placing another dish aside. “How was school today, hon?” Mother asks, her hair falls over her shoulder delicately.
Amory continued washing the dishes, she did not want to see her face.
“You know I don’t go to school anymore, mom. I work now, like an adult.” She states, and it was fact.
The figure of her mother stills, the temperature drops further, Amory still moves with mechanical precision, continuing to wash the dishes, continuing to ignore her mother’s face.
The plate her mother was holding drops, a mess of porcelain painting the floor in its beautiful array.
“This should really be no surprise, mom.” She didn’t even look at the mess, Amory did not spare her mother with another glance, still focused on washing the dishes with precision only a parent could ask for.
The shards dig uncomfortably inside her bare foot, perhaps if she moved— it would’ve cut skin and left her just barely bleeding.
It was silent for a moment, that moment that only stretches on for far too long, before her mother sighs. A raspy sound.
“Your old mom has quite the bad memory, you know how falling from a height that tall would do to anyone.” She chuckles, and grabs another plate to continue washing. “Spare your old hag a glance or two, will you, Mory?”
Amory didn’t move. “Let’s just focus on washing the dishes, mom.”
A frown pulls at her face, her wispy figure slumps down. “How could you be so mean to your own mother, hon?” Another laugh, another raspy chuckle. “You never change, do you?”
Silence.
The mother continued. “That answers it,” she continues to rub at the dishes, and continues to wash without fanfare.
Like a crash— another plate drops.
And this time, it really digs into her skin, droplets of blood falling and wrapping itself delicately against the flesh and skin of Amory’s legs, her hand shivering in the cold.
The blood was not quite the painful part, her mother grasps her shoulder, and forces Amory to look up at her face.
“Hon, look at the mess we made.”
Her mother says, a wispy, pale figure, fingers too long grasping against her shoulder, eyes that held not the same, depressed shimmer she used to have. Only a fake, dreary imitation.
The fingers trace over the scars over her hands, then it traces over her neck, she smiles with teeth too sharp, and she sighs pitifully, her hand moving through Amory’s hair like she was a disobedient child.
“Look at what we’ve done.” She tuts, and the smell of blood invades her senses, and for some reason, Amory leans in, not out of warmth, not out of the fact she missed her.
But like it was instinct.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, and this as well, shouldn’t we?” She smiles, all teeth, all loose, all wispy figures like she was disappearing at the edges. Tears streamed down her face, make up blotched and smudged, her breath lightly stinking with alcohol.
Then, blood drips onto Amory’s hand.
She looks down at the droplet.
Her entire hand is red, covered in blood she couldn’t get rid of no matter how many times she scrubbed her palms clean, even after she felt like her skin was going to peel off.
Her mother sighs again, this time, wistfully. Leaning over to bend and place her elongated chin at Amory’s shoulder.
“It’s okay. She’s still here, isn’t she?” Mother says, pity lacing her voice with a sick sense of comfort, like she was telling a kindergartener who stubbed their toe that it was going to be okay.
She lifted her chin off Amory’s shoulder, her smoky, almost non-physical figure grasping onto a single, dropped piece of plate, a sharp, porcelain piece.
She stood up again— and a knife was placed onto Amory’s hands.
Bloodied, rusted. She thought she had thrown it away long ago.
“Let’s make ourselves some stew, God knows we deserve it.” Her mother lets out another achy, raspy chuckle, her wispy figure, had now stood taller than before, licking the ceiling with shadowy contour.
“I’ll clean this up, you can cut up the vegetables.” Her fingers elongated further, brushing against the mess she made
Amory’s breath shudders, her eye narrows, and the house is desolate once more.
February 20th, 7pm, 2025.
It has been 3 days since Amory and Marie last hung out, she wonders ever so slightly if that’s really a bad thing. She doesn’t know herself, all she sees right now being the mundanity of city street lights, billboards and cars.
Rain platters the streets in wet, reflective essence.
Amory lets out a sigh, mouth downturned but not quite upset as she unfurls her umbrella, a bright, eye-catching red that she handily twirls in her head.
‘Just the day where I didn’t use my car.’ She thought to herself through the ringing of flashing cars and the intensifying rain. What was meant to be a quick trip to the grocery store turned into an annoying endeavour.
Walking out of the bus stop, mostly protected from the rain— other than the stray bits of water that managed to tickle or brush past the skin of her arms and neck, she walks, steps pattering against the concrete.
It was rhythmical, almost robotical. Making her way to the grocery store, a repetitive task that she could do with her eyes closed.
Amory pauses— stiffening as she feels something.. wet? Squelchy in texture, hit her pants. She has long rid herself of feeling disgusted, yet she cranes her neck down.
Her countenance remains impartial, her hand grabbing a stray letter, it was wrapped in plastic, but the plastic was damaged and ripped, thus water had leaked in.
She slings the umbrella so it dangles securely over her shoulder.
Overcome with a sense of curiosity, she pries the paper delicately from its damaged wrappings. She traces her thumb over.. handwriting, too familiar, too… recognizable.
A name she knows very well, stamped onto the sides of the letter with a big smile emoji, a few floral decorations— or what she assumes it is floral decorations, hanging around the last of this piece of paper.
‘To; Amory Arkham.’
Her breath did not catch in her throat, nor did her eye widen. But her heart beats, faster than it has been in weeks.
The letter opens, she can’t risk breaking it, can’t risk tearing the contents up, considering the fragile and soggy state it’s currently in. She is gentle, thumb brushing over the folds of soggy paper.
She is tender, pulling the paper out of its confines, a long one, with ink smudges out and letters near incomprehensible, truly, it seemed life did not treat this letter well.
But the words were still legible, enough that she continues on to prod, she continues to unveil and she continues to seek.
A ringing sound echoes in her ear, not because of the cars, not because of the letter.
Amory reads it.
“THE CONTENTS.”
To Amory! My dearest #######.
I hope you’re doing well. :) I know we haven’t talked a lot, partially my fault for not ####### the right days,
..I just wanted to, be honest 2 you. About everything, about ##, ##### ### friendship. I know life hasn’t been kind to either of us. But, that’s how it goes i guess
I don’t know what i’m expecting from writing this honestly but i just want to.. want to say this
#### # #### ###
### were, the bestest friend # #### had, ### I ######## what ## ####, ##ally! # #### ### #o #uch, i ###### #o.
I know this seems kinda a lot rn. N that’s alright and i don’t know why im doing #### rn, # j# wan### t# g## this off my chest, and.. give it to you.
#### ##—
The rest of the letter was too unintelligible for Amory to comprehend, but the message was sent, something she knew all too well. She inhaled, exhaled.
At some point, her umbrella had fallen. Left discarded onto the rainy pavement as the message became even more desecrated, her hair was wet, face slick.
She did not shake, nor did she cry.
Amory did not drop the letter, nor did she particularly make any attempts to protect it. Rain encases her like a shower, it was merciless, but she couldn’t care.
Deeper into the alleyway, she trudges.
She knew it too well, the nook and cranny, to the turns, the wafting scent of trash and the feces of various rodents, the laughter of drunks or drug-addicted men or women.
Call it redemption, the way she comes to a halt after 20 minutes of simple walking.
Call it retribution, a lone, single dumpster. Locked away in an area barred with wires and more.
Call it revenge, as she deftly climbs over the bars, into the zone of that lone dumpster. It wasn’t particularly unique, nor did it have a reason to be so.. out in the deepest cracks of the alleyway only people who could keep secrets know about.
Call it— awakening, with how Amory opens the lid.
The smell of rot enters her nose, maggots, worms and flies lay their dirty eggs in her corpse, mangled, brutalized by decay. Yet, it smells serenely sweet. Like fruit, like candy.
She leans over to see Marie’s brutalized face, time has not done her good, that was sure, but still— after 2 weeks..
Amory’s breath hitches, not in a way of fear, nor could it be terror. A soft exhale leaves her breath, cold.
She leans over the dumpster, not caring for the slick that wraps around her already wet fingers, Amory places; pushes the worn letter onto Marie’s rotting chest. The heart of her carcass.
She wraps her hands around Marie’s neck, hauling the dead carcass out of the dumpster.
Maggots and flies buzz angrily in the crooks of her flesh, rotting away, Marie’s silk hair was falling apart, her head twisted as bones jutted uncomfortably.
Marie looked beautiful like this though, despite blood still dribbling out of her body, sinew and skin and more— struggling on holding itself together at the entourage of insects and the age of time.
Amory breathed, and in some sick way, Amory felt pleased.
With trembling hands, but a steady face, she brought Marie’s limp head to rest alongside the crook of her neck, grabbing the hands which pulsated to indicate the eggs nesting inside her very muscles.
Marie’s body was impossibly cold, no longer the gentle warmth it used to bring.
Amory brought her hand, she interlocked her fingers with Marie’s for just a moment, just to feel it, how it weighs, and it was just the same as it had always been.
She swallowed, her eyes fixated on the digits, the points, the falling flesh, the way her skin moved. Not because of a pulse, nor was it heartbeat, but due to the rot, the eggs, the worms that traveled alongside her veins that used to be so dearly alive.
Amory brung the hand to her lips.
She bit down on it, gently, then— she teared, ripping it out with force, it lingered in her mouth as she took in what Marie truly tasted like, it was bitter, it was disgusting; but for a moment, it was sweet.
She took another bite, the flesh tears easily now, mostly due to the rot, and she continues. She bites off each flesh, even with insects and more wriggling inside of it.
Amory consumes a finger now, licking the bones that no longer remain on Marie, and she continues further, the palm. It was a bit difficult, with the amount of bones, and the eggs seemed to like laying at this particular spot.
Despite it, she consumes like a starving woman, as if she hadn't eaten for weeks, for months, for years, she consumes what is left over of Marie’s corpse, now desecrated by her own hands. And by God, is it sweet.
She continues on now, moving from finger to palm to the soft wrists of Marie, Marie never liked to hit, she never liked to force or push, she was gentle in a way of which she never twisted her wrist for a slap, but to help someone get up.
Again, Amory clamps down on her wrist and tears off flesh, the buzzing of flies increases, but even they seem wary of the feast occurring before them.
Amory drapes her hands over Marie’s lower torso, she continues lower, and lower. Each sinew she consumes, each bug she swallows painstakingly as well because they ate her too.
The taste had long faded out to saccharine flesh, honeyed and dewed and barbecued over low heat, the taste spoke of memories, the veins spoke of everything unsaid, the skin spoke of her.
So she plunged to the stomach after ridding her flesh and skin bare, leaving only bone she did not eat.
Amory opens the gash of Marie’s stomach, and it gives way far too easily, her organs were long dead, but it was placed on full display now, and how Amory hungered.
She grabbed her livers first, supple and soft and everything that reminded Amory of Marie, she brought it to her mouth, sighing at the burst of blood that erupted in her mouth— as she chewed.
She chewed and chewed and ate and consumed, ripped out pancreas, to stomach to lungs just so she could imprint on her brain on how Marie breathed, until all that was left of her now was her heart.
Her dead, cold heart.
Amory ate it, but she didn’t consume like it was running, she was not harsh to clamp down, not famined, she did not eat like a man starved now. But she took her time.
Licking over the ridges of the heart, she feels it— no, comprehends it, and she imagines how it would’ve felt in her mouth if Marie’s heart was beating, she imagines how it would’ve felt in her mouth if Marie’s heart was warm and pulsating.
It tasted just like her, pure, her essence. Her soul, everything that could be described as to what her best friend is, what her best friend embodies so naturally.
So Amory took her time, to languidly chew down on flesh, to savour the taste, the moment. Because there was only one heart in this world that she would ever eat.
And in her feast, in the last of Marie’s dead body, now consumed, now ravaged by what once was her best friend, who— perhaps she thought of still after her untimely demise.
Amory breathed in epiphany.
Marie hummed in the house.
Dusting over cabinets mismanaged, reorganizing fallen books, clothes. Anything she deemed messy enough was worth her time, a lovely pink apron wrapped just around her waist.
Her phone was placed right on the couch as she dusted off her carpets, she wondered how she managed to even let it get this bad, oh well.
Placing the pillows at their rightful spots, she did some last minute screening of the entire place, making sure every picture was fully cleaned— not crooked!
A smile grew on her face, hands placed at her waist as she observed the clean abode, it was practically sparkling. All thanks to her hard work of course!
Marie lets out a self-satisfied sigh at her handiwork, she places the vacuum, duster and broom down at the corner for now, she ought to get a bath, no?
Shrugging off her elastic gloves, she untied the apron around her waist with ease.
“I should hang out with Amory after this.” She thinks off handedly, her tone bright— vibrant. Marie balls up her latex gloves as she places them on the counter alongside her apron.
Yet, maybe she didn’t have to wait so long after all.
Marie flinches as her phone rings, now who could be calling her? “Calling me at such an ungodly hour too..” She huffs, wondering if she should just let it ring and apologize about that tomorrow.
In the end, she approaches her phone, and brightens up at the name. Ah! It was Amory!
She swiped, bringing the phone to her ears as her smile grew even wider. “Amory! Amor, to think you would call me yourself, you don’t ever do that, you know?” A giggle plays off the last of her sentence.
There was only heavy, heavy breathing playing on the other side, unperturbed, Marie only continued as she waltzed over to sit at her now clean couch, hugging a pillow one-handedly.
“What happened?” She asks, almost serious, almost genuine. “Is it an accident? Oh! To think you called me at such a late night, I guess we both are night owls, huh?” Marie laughs again.
She patters off though, soon enough as she recollected herself. “What is it, though?” She asks, this time with no giggle, chuckle or anything hiding in her sentence.
“..Let’s meet up again.” Amory says, her voice quiet even against the call, but Marie still picks it up. Of course she does.
She lets out another huff. “About time you invited me, you know— I thought I was going to do all the inviting and organizing.” She rolled her eyes, head leaning against the couch.
In response was that, there was only momentary silence, only broken as the other spoke.
“You don’t need to, not for now, at least.” Amory says. Her tone was flat, though she paused— Just for a few seconds.
“Let’s.. meet up at that lake, do you remember it?”
There was a chuckle, and another half-hearted huff. “Of course I do, I’ll always remember it.” Marie hummed, her voice was delicate against the call. “What for? And.. what time?”
“I can bring some drinks, there's some stored at my fridge right now, only if you bring food though.” The joke plays off her lips far too easily, Marie smiles again. “Okay okay! I should let you finish..” She giggled.
A sigh, then an inhale. “You don't.. need to bring any drinks or food or, well— yeah. I just want to talk over our favourite pond, we used to go there every night whenever we were stressed.”
“I miss it, I miss those times where we’d chat away all our problems and pretend the outside world didn’t exist anymore.” Amory mumbles, her voice just discernable enough over the call.
“Do you remember the stars there? I think the sky would still be as beautiful as it was in the past, do you remember when.. when we tried fishing there, Marie?”
Her voice trembles for a bit, before it stabilizes like nothing happened.
“Do you remember when I cried after my boyfriend dumped me for another woman, only to pat my back as you told me I.. that I mattered more than any scumbag on earth?” There was an inhale at the other side of the call.
Marie didn’t say anything, at least not yet.
“I remember when we smoked smores over a campfire there, where we took pictures and recorded tapes so that, in the future, we could rewatch it together.” Amory’s breath trembles, just not her voice.
“..So, I was thinking, what if we rewatch those tapes together? Memories of old, of what used to be before, well..” She lets the silence hang in the air. “Before we became so busy, you know?”
The silence was deafening for a moment, and for a minute or two, Marie didn’t know how to respond.
Her voice breathed over the call for a few short seconds. Lingering over every syllable, every response.
Then, she smiles— “Of course we can rewatch tapes! What question is that, Amory? I miss that lake too, you know?” A raspy giggle. “What time do you want us to meet, oh! And preferably, when?”
Amory’s response was almost immediate.
“Tomorrow, 10pm.”
Marie’s smile grew, she clutched the pillow harder. “As you wish, I’ll definitely be there.” Maybe her cold, dead heart would’ve fluttered if it was possible.
Before she could properly say goodbye, and get Amory to say her goodbyes as well, the call promptly ended— a bit rude if she had to say so herself, but she didn’t expect much.
Marie didn’t say anything, just this once, but her smile widened. The skin stretches uncomfortably at the length, yet she continued to hum a tune, long forgotten by man. Her head leaning against a stray cushion.
The sky was dark, an encompassing night sky that had seen far more than what man could comprehend. It was the perfect spot for Marie and Amory.
There, in that isolated forest, stood Amory.
She stared at the lake. It wasn’t that refreshing blue, it hasn’t been for a long time. Marred with life and litter, pollution seeps at the seams of this very lake, a change from what it used to be.
Pollution didn’t matter though, at least not here, not now. When all she could reminisce about was her passed friend, she kneeled down, only to gaze at once was, just for sometime. Of bygone days, of less.
Grabbing something from her pocket, she then placed a balled up piece of paper, with a rock. Just to make sure it didn’t fly anywhere.
When she was done, was when the trees jingled, hung windchimes of old ringing together on worn branches and oak bark. Akin to a warning, barely of presence.
Marie steps in, and the forest grows silent, a desolate, ringing echo. Just for a short moment as her steps pattered against the grassy clearing, a mark of her own entrance.
There was nothing to hear of, only for a few, short minutes. That sort of quietude that indicated the presence of danger, of predators or of something more.
“Amory!” She calls out, her voice laced with saccharine dew. And, at the sound of her voice, painfully sweet to the point it could be sickening—
She stands up, turning to face a grin that stretches painfully against skin.
Yet, Amory’s face was painfully dull, not upset, not of hatred nor of anything negative, just a placating stillness that echoed back against the forest's stiffness. An echo chamber.
Marie pauses at this, but she laughs, her eyes weren’t crinkled, though her chuckle was neither forced nor genuine. She places her hands down to her sides, and her smile lowers, ever so slightly.
“Soo..” She sang, voice sing-songy as she stepped closer to Amory. “Where are we watching the tapes? You didn’t bring your bag or anything..” She muses, twirling a lock of her hair absent-mindedly.
Expectantly.
“..Come here.” Amory murmurs, expression still painfully neutral as Marie takes another step closer— then another, and another, till all she could see was Amory, and all Amory could see was Marie.
Marie tilts her head, for once, seeming puzzled or confused or, maybe even surprised.
“Amory?” She inquired, her voice held a curious tone. But Amory didn’t respond, her eyes were downcast, held something more, and she did not answer.
Instead, the other brought her hands up against her neck, wrapping it. Encasing the nape slowly, gently, it could’ve been considered sweet, if not for how she tightens her hold.
Her voice shakes, just for a moment as her hand splays against familiar skin, familiar segments of bone that she consumed and imprinted in her mind. So familiar, yet so synthetic.
The taste of her was still fresh inside the caricature of her own mind. Amory inhales, and exhales. Warmth breath ghosting over the nape of the other’s neck.
She did not level Marie with a stare, did not deign her soft words or a smile.
“We’ve never recorded any tapes together, ‘Marie’.”
Before she could respond, Amory had acted faster, swifter.
Already wrapping her arms around her waist in a grip so tight, it could be considered as crushing. Interlocking her legs with the impersonator just so she wouldn’t run away, she exhales.
Placing her head just right at the crevices of Marie’s neck, hair and more mingling against one another, she tightens her hold in unabiding prison, not of want, but of capture.
“Amory— AMORY!” ‘Marie’ yelps, and she lets out a choke as Amory’s grip only tightens further, and further, she thrashes in her grip, in every waking moment, where she was blissfully on the surface.
Amory did not budge despite her attempts, did not falter, her goal was set.
She falls down the lake, and brings her ‘friend’ down with her, screaming and yelling and fighting.
They drop in the polluted water in beautiful syzygy, mud and dirt and everything impure submerging them— Marie gurgles against the weight of the water, Amory is silent at the consummation.
Their hair intertwines with one another in knotted messes, only enhanced by the pollution, by the rot of the very surface of water. Marred with time, with human hubris and greed.
Amory presses her body fully flush against Marie’s just to ensure she doesn't escape, tightening her grip and hold— even when Marie’s hands start to twist, where her eyes didn’t seem so right anymore.
Her teeth sharpen, and in one last act of defiance, Marie sinks her fangs deep into Amory’s neck, an act of pure spite, of revenge or panic.
Yet, Amory did not relent, did not move nor did she change, but Marie changed, physically, and most certainly clearly.
Her skin oozes off, skin melting against the water, flesh and bone exposed as liquid bites against the very unravelling of her own body. Her veins swim, disconnecting pieces that slowly floated to nothing and nowhere in particular.
The pupils of her eye sharpens, her fingers elongate, she growls as more pieces of her own skin fall off delicately against her skin, dissolving within water in mere seconds.
With flesh and skin exposed to dirty water, Marie trembles as they descend further and further into the depths of this very lake.
She chokes, if she could cry, she very well would.
Her limbs slacken, and her head swims, stuffed with cotton as the light eventually settles into nothing, an empty, all-consuming darkness that threatens to drag her back.
Marie glances at Amory’s form, it was slack— and in horrific, agonizing realization, maybe, just maybe, Amory had been the one to fall first in between this cursed tango.
Marie was barely recognizable as human anymore, claws and slitted pupils, bits of her own false skin falling apart at the seams. She could barely move now, with the weight of the pressure, with the pain of her flesh exposed.
It couldn't breathe.
RECOVERED NOTE AT THE SCENE;
I was a fool,
Admittedly so,
Jealous, envious, and something else.
Something more.
I was messy, I was everything you weren’t.
You were kind, sweet, loving and vibrant.
You lit up rooms and let flowers swoon,
Understanding,
Considerate,
Most importantly, gentle.
In my messed up, putrid mind.
I did not like that.
I detested it, but not you,
Never you.
In my waking realization,
Where your blood was on my lips,
Flesh on my tongue,
I think I,
In my savage mind,
Understood.
You,
Me,
And Myself.
Your ######, #####, ######,
Amory Arkham.
Fin.