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🜍 Danse Macabre;
Danse Macabre.
It was done. The creature's corpse laid crumpled on the floor, bearing the marks of your scuffle. You all carry your own wounds which the others with you swiftly set about patching up. Fortunate that you discovered a cache of blue herbs, old but still usable, in a barrel earlier to stave off infection and rejuvenate your bodies.
What a horrible turn of events. The tunnels were bad enough with their darkness and twisting hallways, and then they began discovering... monstrosities. Lumps of meat and body parts stitched and sewn together with a skilled hand into a mockery of a living creature. Still alive, too, despite them being clearly multiple individuals sewn into one mass.
Soon enough, you had the honour of running into their creator—a bizarre woman almost as covered in stitches as her handiwork, only ever responding with muffled laughter to your shouts. She pursued with what you could only assume was delight at the prospect of new material to work with, her skill with the thread so expert and just otherworldly enough that you quickly found your scalpel arm taken hostage. Thank Alll-mer you had someone with you to cut you free.
You make a face as you stare down your dirtied shoes. Fine loafers, much nicer than you could afford on your own. Gifts from your late father-in-law, they were. Now stained with mud, blood, sewage, and other gods-know-what that you'd rather not think too deeply on.
You heave a heavy sigh and turn your attention back to the corpse.
"Glad that's over. Now, I assume we'll have me doing the usual."
You often conduct post-mortem examinations of the various monstrosities you find around Prehevil. Partially, it occurs naturally as you loot for anything useful you can use in your survival. Other times, it's to try to make sense of these malformed ghouls twisted by whatever curse plagues the city. You needed every skill at your disposal if you wanted to survive in this nightmare, after all. One mistake and you could be dead, and despite everything, you didn't want that quite yet.
Usually there isn't much to say. It's hard to make a medical diagnosis of eldritch-touched monstrosities you've never known they existed until the morning before, but it's all you've dealt with since. Elbows-deep in the unknowable viscera of a moon-touched monster every other hour for the last two days. Sylvian's mercy, you feel exhausted.
You rattle off your report in your usual monotone, thinly veiling your disgust as you turn the monster's corpse.
"The person looks to have a rather normal female body. A little bit more muscular than usual perhaps, but nothing out of ordinary. She has sewn her mouth partly shut and there appears to be more sewn cuts scattered around her body. Their purpose is unknown to be, but they do distort her face beyond recognition..."
You blink once as you brush the stringy black hair out of her face and give it a closer look. Something awful had been nagging at you ever since you and your fellow survivors ran into the monstrosity that you all, naturally enough, nicknamed "Stitches" as you fled. The obvious threat of yet another fucking way to violently die in this godforsaken town had naturally taken precedence over studying her features at the time, but here with your examination, she... you...
You know this face. Under the stitches and blue paint, past the eerily staring blank eyes now vacant of gleeful malice. How often had you stared into them before, when they shined with curiosity and love?
This abomination mostly only ever giggled at you all with malicious glee. Except for you. For you, when your eyes met as she got hold of your arm, the sewn corners of her mouth twitched downwards into a frown.
Elise von Dutch. You would recognise your wife anywhere.
"What's wrong?"
One of your compatriots calls out to you, snapping you out of your reverie. Not for the better as you realise you're back to staring at this awful face.
"...Let's just go," you reply, standing up. The examination is over. There's nothing else for you to say.
"Are you alright?"
Yeah. No. Yes. Gods. You're not. You came to Prehevil for answers as to what happened to your wife. You saw her dismembered body upon a ritual circle in the basement of the von Dutch estate. You left it there as you boarded the first train you could book to Prehevil. Elise couldn't be here, she couldn't. She was dead, you conducted that examination yourself too. Tried for days to bring her back, even.
You came for answers. You gained more questions.
You turn and leave before anyone else can stop you.
"...I need fresh air."
What a horrible turn of events. The tunnels were bad enough with their darkness and twisting hallways, and then they began discovering... monstrosities. Lumps of meat and body parts stitched and sewn together with a skilled hand into a mockery of a living creature. Still alive, too, despite them being clearly multiple individuals sewn into one mass.
Soon enough, you had the honour of running into their creator—a bizarre woman almost as covered in stitches as her handiwork, only ever responding with muffled laughter to your shouts. She pursued with what you could only assume was delight at the prospect of new material to work with, her skill with the thread so expert and just otherworldly enough that you quickly found your scalpel arm taken hostage. Thank Alll-mer you had someone with you to cut you free.
You make a face as you stare down your dirtied shoes. Fine loafers, much nicer than you could afford on your own. Gifts from your late father-in-law, they were. Now stained with mud, blood, sewage, and other gods-know-what that you'd rather not think too deeply on.
You heave a heavy sigh and turn your attention back to the corpse.
"Glad that's over. Now, I assume we'll have me doing the usual."
You often conduct post-mortem examinations of the various monstrosities you find around Prehevil. Partially, it occurs naturally as you loot for anything useful you can use in your survival. Other times, it's to try to make sense of these malformed ghouls twisted by whatever curse plagues the city. You needed every skill at your disposal if you wanted to survive in this nightmare, after all. One mistake and you could be dead, and despite everything, you didn't want that quite yet.
Usually there isn't much to say. It's hard to make a medical diagnosis of eldritch-touched monstrosities you've never known they existed until the morning before, but it's all you've dealt with since. Elbows-deep in the unknowable viscera of a moon-touched monster every other hour for the last two days. Sylvian's mercy, you feel exhausted.
You rattle off your report in your usual monotone, thinly veiling your disgust as you turn the monster's corpse.
"The person looks to have a rather normal female body. A little bit more muscular than usual perhaps, but nothing out of ordinary. She has sewn her mouth partly shut and there appears to be more sewn cuts scattered around her body. Their purpose is unknown to be, but they do distort her face beyond recognition..."
You blink once as you brush the stringy black hair out of her face and give it a closer look. Something awful had been nagging at you ever since you and your fellow survivors ran into the monstrosity that you all, naturally enough, nicknamed "Stitches" as you fled. The obvious threat of yet another fucking way to violently die in this godforsaken town had naturally taken precedence over studying her features at the time, but here with your examination, she... you...
You know this face. Under the stitches and blue paint, past the eerily staring blank eyes now vacant of gleeful malice. How often had you stared into them before, when they shined with curiosity and love?
This abomination mostly only ever giggled at you all with malicious glee. Except for you. For you, when your eyes met as she got hold of your arm, the sewn corners of her mouth twitched downwards into a frown.
Elise von Dutch. You would recognise your wife anywhere.
"What's wrong?"
One of your compatriots calls out to you, snapping you out of your reverie. Not for the better as you realise you're back to staring at this awful face.
"...Let's just go," you reply, standing up. The examination is over. There's nothing else for you to say.
"Are you alright?"
Yeah. No. Yes. Gods. You're not. You came to Prehevil for answers as to what happened to your wife. You saw her dismembered body upon a ritual circle in the basement of the von Dutch estate. You left it there as you boarded the first train you could book to Prehevil. Elise couldn't be here, she couldn't. She was dead, you conducted that examination yourself too. Tried for days to bring her back, even.
You came for answers. You gained more questions.
You turn and leave before anyone else can stop you.
"...I need fresh air."