what to wear when…countess elizabeth báthory de ecsed. her muscles go jelly-limp as she sinks back against the tub’s cold slope. she does not retch at the wretched stench of blood, though it hangs heavy in the very air - coppery and clotted and obscene. she playfully bathes and splashes until it curdles to sludge; stringy, coagulated clumps tangle in her hair. she studies her pores in the dim light, demanding that they be large enough for youth to seep through, tasting the sweet, sharp memories of their pleas on her tongue. she’s got their hearts between her teeth and she’ll be spitting blood for weeks (elizabeth báthory requested by honeyspider, last line requested by starksandrecreation - she wrote that beautiful sentence and i take no credit for it).
post 155 of an infinity-part series