the patient.

The Patient

Man, I love blood.

My blade easily dug out the intestines and vessels of an unorthodox color from the once living being beneath me. I perked up, ears twitching at the wet, rhythmic squelch of organs being separated—a music only I could hear, grotesque and divine. My eyes fixated on the vibrant cyan spilled over my hands like some unicorn just threw up. It was bright. Blindingly so. So out of place, that the sight of the woman fully mutilated, and now undergoing surgical dismemberment by my own two hands, did not in the least faze me. Her face, once delicate and adorned with the kind of beauty reserved for royalty, now hung lifeless—its features slack, drenched in her own royal blood that shimmered cyan under the dim light like oil on water.

Gutting them alive, tearing out their entrails—that’s my twisted prayer.

It wasn’t just about the gore, the entrails, or even the act of killing. No—this was ritual. This was reclamation. Every incision, every bone split clean through, reminded me that I had power. That I was no longer prey. I was becoming something more. Something divine.

Especially when the entrails belong to these cursed ghouls. There’s a strange, almost artistic elegance to the way their insides spill—vivid, unholy, mesmerizing. It’s just so…so pretty. I almost wanted to drink it—just to taste the beauty—but the stench, pungent and putrid, nearly overwhelmed me. I placed the tip of my leather-clad finger on my tongue and winced.

The cyan droplet on my tongue tasted purely disgusting. But I reveled in things that repulsed me. They make me feel alive. Oh, so alive.

Gagging and coughing, I stood up and looked down at my masterful work.

Now, all that remained was the stagecraft—the grand reveal. My audience would come. They always do.

Soon, even the Higher Courts will acknowledge this. Acknowledge me. The Emperor Ghoul won’t sit straight with his only daughter, this gruesomely violated.

The myths of their invincibility? Their arrogant sense of immortality? Shattered—utterly, irreversibly crushed.

Crushed.

Because, soon. Oh, so very soon.

I will erase them. Every single flesh-eating creature. With my ‘meaty, delicious hands’ as they’d say.

This was only the beginning.

This dissection, this moment—it wasn’t murder. It was a prologue.

It was only Act One.

Act one of a play I’ve long waited to perform.

“Curtains up, princess. It’s time for your debut.”