[ He thrashes and shoves her away and digs his nails into his flesh until the blood runs free, soaking his chest and dripping off his agony-curled shoulder, but still it isn't enough. Still he feels the wretched center of his own heart. ]
Get it out --
[ If he could rid himself of it, the stain on his soul, like drawing a leech's tongue out of his flesh.
But he cannot.
He flattens his hand over the bloody wound and cries, his body shaking terribly with grief and horror. ]
holy shit this thread.
Get it out --
[ If he could rid himself of it, the stain on his soul, like drawing a leech's tongue out of his flesh.
But he cannot.
He flattens his hand over the bloody wound and cries, his body shaking terribly with grief and horror. ]