(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

drop. Long scratches had been gouged in the soil and stone around her, and
her nails are filthy and worn from rending the earth and tearing her garden
to shreds. Shattered glass and ceramic litter her lair, and old potions bubble
and sizzle on the stone where they had mixed haphazardly.
When the thrill of the ritual had finished thrumming through her, the giddy
satisfaction of finishing such a task was not there. Such a terrifying thing to
see, even through a hag's eyes. How he had twisted and writhed, chained to
the altar, his screams of agony shaking him to the bone. The mortality
twisted in her claws as she pulled, ripping it away and tearing the sinews of
the soul. The sound of its bindings snapping under her fingers, the slick, wet
feel of resistance... it seemed an eternity of struggle before it burst free, like
pus from a lanced boil.
When it was over he lay trembling: mewling like a kitten, tender and
vulnerable and shuddering like a newborn babe. He was limp against the
cold stone, eyes vacant and pleading for the pain to stop.
Yet as with all things Ravel was thorough, and she had plucked up the
dagger without a thought. Numb and cold from the struggle, she found her
hands moving on their own: holding him down, pressing the cold tip of the
blade against his breast.
He mewled weakly, tried to fight off her grip. But his palms were slick with
sweat, his muscles had been drained of their strength, and his flesh was so
tender and soft...
"Hushhhh child..." Ravel murmured, surprised at the softness in her own
words even as the blade slid in with merciless purpose.
His breath rattled in his throat. His head rolled back. His limbs flopped to
their sides.
Already the pricklethorns were blooming, sharp and venomous, nourished
by his blood.
He lay still. Something was different. A strange feeling trickled through her,
something that made her black heart quicken, her gnarled fingers trembled.
Little by little, the horror crept through the dark recesses of her mind. A chill
she'd never known before siphoned the little warmth she kept in the core of
her being.
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