Nunquam Erit


~~~4~~~
Sanguis

Blood, Cosette reflected, sitting on her bed, had almost a nice scent if one viewed things properly. It was a sort of tingling, ironic smell, and it wafted. It could be corrosive, but only if one really wanted to consider it a bad thing. And it wasn't.

It didn't look terrible; it was actually rather pretty. Every little crimson billow had its own shape and curls. Depending - as she pricked with the kitchen knife - on where the cut was, it unfurled in a different red fern every time. Then it spread along the skin, sending out tendrils. Of course, if one was simply making very small cuts, the way she was, then it merely served to create small, crimson mounds that quickly hardened over with a film that broke when gently prodded.

Also - she gasped softly as the knife went too deep and created a larger wound, and she quickly raised the top of her wrist to her lips and sucked away the red - it didn't taste awful either. Just a bit salty and... vibrating? That was the feel it gave. A vibration.

She'd been doing this for ages, since she was a little girl and one of the men who came to the Thénardiers' showed her how and explained about it. He was a strange man with soft, friendly black eyes that looked in different directions. He'd crouched down by her spot under a table and talked, rambling a bit, but warmly, and then pulled out his pocket-knife and poked small, shallow cuts into his already pocked hands.

"See," he'd said, "the blood's horridly lovely if you look at it right. See - I've made a flower."

And he had. So she'd stolen one of M'sieur's little knives one night, and played around, practicing. It felt oddly nice, a soft little burst of pain that dissolved into a slight pleasing tremor after a moment. She now had to steal knives from the kitchen of her father's house, but it was mostly the same.

It was while she was putting the knife back, having crept downstairs, that she remembered Marius, and scampered outside in her nightdress. He asked why, and she said she'd forgotten, and they laughed. He took her hands in his tenderly, and kissed each once, chastely, and never noticed the tiny bit of crimson on his lips.


Chapter Five.