[Her ears are ringing. Ringing, ringing, humming, screaming, round and round, the noise of her own trapped mind, the rustle of newspaper crunching underfoot as she paces around the inside of her prison of bone and flesh. She stands still, staring at Mukuro staring at the note, and screams around the tiny room in her head, claws digging into the wallpaper until it shreds.]
[Inside the cupboards, something explodes. Then another, another, another. She only has so many glasses, so it stops eventually. The cupboard door creaks open, and shattered glass tumbles out onto the counter.]
[Get out.]
[Liar.]
[You were never going to tell me, and neither was he.]
[I can't trust any of you. I can't trust anyone.]
[No one loves me. No one will ever love me. Not first, not best, not ever. Empty, empty, empty, crazy broken girl. Why won't you just give up? Why do you keep fucking trying?]
[She doesn't scream. She doesn't cry. She doesn't curse. She doesn't lash out.]
[Somehow, she's too angry for any of those things.]
[Instead, she breathes. Slow and deliberate. In, out. She's shaking, trembling, vacillating out of existence every time she stops concentrating for even a fraction of a second. Her self wants to be elsewhere. But she's not a coward. She never backs down.]
[The paper crumples in her hand. Voice comes out low, rough in the space between them.]
"MW" stands for memory work. That's why I had it hidden. In case someone fucked with my memory, I could find it later and try to remember. Nobody ever has before, but I've seen what it does to people. I have to be ready. I can't forget this. Not ever.
[Reaching out, she bridges the space between them, takes Mukuro's shirt in her fist, and pulls her close. Gently. So gently. Like she's made of porcelain, a beautiful kintsugi bowl, practical and desperate for filling.]
[Lila can't leave her empty. So she pours all of herself in. That is, after all, her most authentic response. She never does anything halfway.]
If anyone — ever — treats you like that again. For any reason. Any reason. I will wear their skin. I'll eat them alive. I don't care who they are. There's no forgiveness, not for that. Nobody is allowed to treat you like you're worthless, ever ever ever again.
Do you hear me, Mukuro? I mean what I say. I mean it.
cw gory imagery
[That answers that, doesn't it.]
[Her ears are ringing. Ringing, ringing, humming, screaming, round and round, the noise of her own trapped mind, the rustle of newspaper crunching underfoot as she paces around the inside of her prison of bone and flesh. She stands still, staring at Mukuro staring at the note, and screams around the tiny room in her head, claws digging into the wallpaper until it shreds.]
[Inside the cupboards, something explodes. Then another, another, another. She only has so many glasses, so it stops eventually. The cupboard door creaks open, and shattered glass tumbles out onto the counter.]
[Get out.]
[Liar.]
[You were never going to tell me, and neither was he.]
[I can't trust any of you. I can't trust anyone.]
[No one loves me. No one will ever love me. Not first, not best, not ever. Empty, empty, empty, crazy broken girl. Why won't you just give up? Why do you keep fucking trying?]
[She doesn't scream. She doesn't cry. She doesn't curse. She doesn't lash out.]
[Somehow, she's too angry for any of those things.]
[Instead, she breathes. Slow and deliberate. In, out. She's shaking, trembling, vacillating out of existence every time she stops concentrating for even a fraction of a second. Her self wants to be elsewhere. But she's not a coward. She never backs down.]
[The paper crumples in her hand. Voice comes out low, rough in the space between them.]
"MW" stands for memory work. That's why I had it hidden. In case someone fucked with my memory, I could find it later and try to remember. Nobody ever has before, but I've seen what it does to people. I have to be ready. I can't forget this. Not ever.
[Reaching out, she bridges the space between them, takes Mukuro's shirt in her fist, and pulls her close. Gently. So gently. Like she's made of porcelain, a beautiful kintsugi bowl, practical and desperate for filling.]
[Lila can't leave her empty. So she pours all of herself in. That is, after all, her most authentic response. She never does anything halfway.]
If anyone — ever — treats you like that again. For any reason. Any reason. I will wear their skin. I'll eat them alive. I don't care who they are. There's no forgiveness, not for that. Nobody is allowed to treat you like you're worthless, ever ever ever again.
Do you hear me, Mukuro? I mean what I say. I mean it.