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Sewn Soul

Her body feels foreign. It takes days to adjust to the motions and weeks to grow comfortable in it.

It's like a second thought and each time she moves, she has to think about it. She bends forks and breaks dishes with inhumane strength. She reaches a staircase and doesn't remember how to lift her foot to take the first step.

The woman is always there with her, patient and ever so gentle. She eases her grip on the cutlery and hooks their elbows together before nudging her towards the stairs.

With each passing day, she acquires an inch more of her body.

A rattle of bones, a clack of fangs and teeth. Soft skin that bleeds under halfmoons of nails.

Or my interpretation of this spooky art

read it on ao3

Here’s an old story, while my brain fights with itself and refuses to put together more words. Happy Halloween!