( kromer undoubtedly refuses to remain still, only her movements grow sluggish, then jerky as don quixote stabs at her insides— she half-shrieks, half-laughs as she swings around the tea party, body slamming against walls and chairs as she stumbles this way, that way. the bile inside of her sloshes higher and higher, blood mixing with it in a smell worse than before, and slowly
slowly, slowly, slowly,
in a way that must be tens of minutes despite it feeling like hours of stabbing, stabbing, stabbing,
kromer retches blood, wings shuddering, and her maw slides open with the undigested portion of its meal, with the blood and guts pulled from their place in her insides. the sick acidic smell of bile washes out with it, sticky and green—it burns the grass around her as quickly as it had bodies, staining the ground dark brown, and kromer herself looks pale, weary.
her swipe at don quixote is slow, without force or direction— her body is shuddering, and tears stream down her face. )
cw: canon-typical gore
slowly, slowly, slowly,
in a way that must be tens of minutes despite it feeling like hours of stabbing, stabbing, stabbing,
kromer retches blood, wings shuddering, and her maw slides open with the undigested portion of its meal, with the blood and guts pulled from their place in her insides. the sick acidic smell of bile washes out with it, sticky and green—it burns the grass around her as quickly as it had bodies, staining the ground dark brown, and kromer herself looks pale, weary.
her swipe at don quixote is slow, without force or direction— her body is shuddering, and tears stream down her face. )
G...ghkk... Ghkkkkkh...