slayer of the drakon, daughter of the war god

[rues]

a clarisse la rue open post
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did u mean RIP OUT MY HEART AND STOMP ON IT

[rues]

[ the last thing clarisse ever wanted was for chris to witness her murder — not even the act itself, but the display, the humiliation. that's all it was ever meant to be, a glorified act of degradation by a monster who walks around in human skin and tries to pass himself off as normal. clarisse knows there is nothing normal or right about hannibal lecter. even if she doesn't know for certain it was hannibal, not based on facts or evidence — as if he would leave evidence to incriminate himself — but in her mind, she knows it was hannibal, and that's enough evidence for her. it's enough to spark the flame of vengeance within her, boiling her blood to the point that she thinks she might explode. the only thing in all of wonderland that could stop her from finding hannibal and attempting to murder him in his sleep is chris.

she comes to with a sharp intake of air, bolting upright and nearly elbowing chris in the face. she isn't sure why she's surprised to see him there — of course he would be, just as he would have seen what became of her after her neck had snapped and she'd been violent cut off from the world. at least her murderer had had the decency not to roast her alive, though she can feel the prickle of heat under her skin regardless. she stares wide-eyed at chris as if she doesn't recognize him — for a split second all she sees is a dark figure, a black shadow with antlers looming behind him, threatening to consume him, and it leaves her frozen where she sits, her lungs once again incapable of drawing breath.

the shadow is gone as quickly as it had appeared; it must have been the light playing tricks on her as her eyes adjust. she search his face frantically, and she reaches out to touch his face, just to make sure he's real and not a figment of her imagination or a nightmare or anything else. the skin beneath her hand is prickled with stubble and it is very real. chris is real, and here, and it's too much and not enough all at once. her lip trembles the longer she looks at him, her eyes welling up with tears as she throws herself at him, clinging to him desperately. don't let me go, she says, a silent plea. her face is buried against his neck and her shoulders shake with every sob she tries to hold back. even chris, who she shares everything with, who she's opened up to more than anyone else, still rarely sees her cry. she doesn't let herself cry; the last time had been for silena, as if the daughter of war crying would change the fates' minds. ]

I'm sorry. [ it comes out choked and hoarse, barely a whisper; she's still trying to find her voice amidst the din of crashing mirrors and breaking bones that lingers in her head. she isn't sure what she's apologizing for, but she thinks she's apologizing for everything. for succumbing to her cravings for war, just like her father, nothing more than a tool, a means to an end. hadn't that been how kronos had used him? clarisse thought she was different from her father, but it turns out the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all. how long had it taken for her to declare war on wonderland? how long had it taken to abandon her friends, her family, for a cause that would lead to nothing but death? if only she'd known that death would be hers. ]