Nightingale (2012) // PG-13 // SHINee, EXO, OC W.C.: 1100 Warning!: bloodplay (consumption, non-descriptive gore), psychiatric events A/N: Prepare for Second and Third Person perspectives. I think it is safe to assume my poster art is improving, yes? Also feel free to skip my sob story at the bottom.  

Chapter VIII.½

 

For the next two weeks, Bea associates herself with the night and the disgustingly fruition stench of blood. . .

. . .there will not be a single day in that period that she does not experience such a fierce irritation that violence is the only solution to calm her down. More than once the temptation to critically harm someone--particularly Key, whose slanted gaze and victorious smirk deserves a bit of reconfiguration--will get so high that her limited number of victims faces the possibility of broken bones, bruising, torn skin, and loss of blood.

The actions of tonight’s performance led our femme protagonist down a swindling path, but all the World of Night has to offer--let me ask you, dear reader.

Is it worth comparing to what you must leave behind?

Humanity, friends, Aunt Karen--Bea’s only family.

Is that all worth the equal amount of nocturnal living?

Transition from diurnal life is more than your wildest dreams can summon. It’s disgustingly troublesome, nauseating and a ruthless wreck of social principles. Your physical condition becomes weak and vulnerable as your body changes.

Mental health is all you. But, honestly, how can you measure the sanity of a person when society itself writes the protocol? Society being human.

Well, dear reader, there’s only one way to find out and Bomi ‘Bea’ Evans is not one to turn down a challenge.

It’s just as Taemin said: on her first day Bea has already managed to complicate things. (He seems to know a lot more than we).

 

 

And now we return to where we left off last. . .

 

 

For someone whose only form of intimidation comes in the form of authority, life has the unfortunate tendency to express itself as a curveball and laugh at whoever it strikes.

For once in her life Bea felt the panic of intimidation, it weighed her down into the shallow river of Pazly forest and shook her insides for all its glorious bile. She coughs and spits and chokes partially digested food and animal blood into the water, the smell only urging to open repeatedly.

“This would be the easy way.”

Key’s words pinched her vocal cords shut. Not another sound left his own mouth following the smirk that curled his lips and she turned to vomit once more--nothing but dry heaves.

Her eyes closed to the gruesome reality of swirling pink and beige and aftermath washing away; behind her eyelids is no better, the image of a sacrificial rabbit hanging limply--she still feels the poor thing in , the scared thri