Work Text:
-[:Excerpts taken from the private journal of Palakarno Nina, dried flecks of blood stain the pages:]-
23-14-1731-3
Somewhere outside Rokomuro
I. Hate. This. Place.
The Winter of this forsaken stretch of backwoods is nothing like the Winter of home. It does not snow here, it just rains. And when it isn’t raining, the sky is a steel gray so dour that it makes one miss the rain. The rain also makes any sort of travel difficult. The ground liquifies and becomes a clinging, sucking danger anywhere there is no paved road and that is a luxury of civilization a vast number of these savages don’t seem to grasp. It was only after a significantly large bribe that the one idiot I could find willing to take me near the forest would even dare to do so in this weather. I guess the allure of more royales than he had fingers to count them with was enough to buck all local common sense and superstitions. Or perhaps his ‘calculations’ allowed him to consider a more carnal prize. He has not attempted anything yet, perhaps the stiletto I don’t actually know how to use strapped to my thigh is enough of a deterrent.
At the very least, his wagon is covered. The big, canvas awning arcs over the top and stretches out far enough to the front and back that it covers him and keeps any errant drops from flying in through the back. This, naturally, does not keep moisture from invading. It makes my clothes feel heavier, makes my skin feel like it will never again feel dry. I constantly have to remind myself of why I’m actually here.
I can see the forest, just a thin black line on the horizon for now. On most official maps, it is simply referred to as the Northern Norda Expanse. The locals have another name for it, however; Teruraj Arboj, ‘The Unholy Trees.’ Their own doing, it wouldn’t be a cursed place if not for their ignorance. Another day, perhaps two, and we will arrive at a small outpost at its border. My dubious guide had only chosen to reveal that he would not be accompanying me into the forest once we were well on the road and his purse was heavier with my money. At the very least, he agreed to wait two days at the waystation for my return. I can’t say that I’m thrilled about venturing into the woods by myself; nor the idea of hauling out a corpse on my own. But money will only do so much. In pursuit of loftier goals, sometimes one must get their hands dirty.
—---
28-14-1731-3
On the road back to Rokomuro
Success success success success!
I still live but at a heavy price. My body aches in ways that I never could have imagined possible before this venture. A share of bruises, scratches, and a few missing fingernails are a worthwhile price for what I have gained.
Fortune was on my side, for the rain stopped shortly after we arrived at the outpost at the edge of the forest and held off the entire time I delved into its depths. My guide had bid me farewell like he didn’t expect to see me again. As certain as I was about what I was doing, I couldn’t help feeling some little apprehension.
The journey into the forest was as simple as hiking into swampy, rain-soaked forest sounds. My travel clothes ended up being a worthwhile investment for the tall, tightly-laced boots by themselves. Though water eventually started seeping into them and soaking my socks, I was at least not in danger of losing them to mud and bogs. I had not even walked for half a day before exhaustion started creeping into the edges of my awareness, but stopping meant sinking and such an ignoble death did not seem fitting.
My goal was plainly in sight above me, a towering gray trunk that rose above the bare canopy and, at a distance, vanished against the sky. It was where they concealed her body in a cairn all those years ago. And the tree grew from the blood that flowed from her sloppy makeshift tomb to this day. These backwoods, sister-raping beasts called her a witch and treated her like one. Had we been contemporaries, she and I could have effected great change on the world together. From all favorable accounts, she was a brilliant mind with a passion and love of life that matched my own. They dragged her from her home and tortured her to death. They beat her, flogged her, branded her. And after she perished, they dismembered her and tried to burn her body. But it was too late by that point. In their fear of witchery, they made something worse; something that couldn’t be burned to ash, that didn’t stop bleeding after death. So they entombed her in the far away forest, hoping to forget.
The smell was the first sign I was close. For the heavy scents of soaked wood and rotted deadfall, the unmistakable iron tang of blood reached me and propelled me on. The cairn came into sight soon after, the large stones slick with her ever-flowing blood. It crawled in slow, pulsing waves towards the roots of the tree to nourish it.
I was exhausted, covered in mud and soaked to the bone, but seeing the cairn energized me. Throwing myself at the stones, I began to dig. Soon, my hands became coated in her blood as I flipped and shifted the rocks. I needed to pause only once to hold my hand and swear to every star in the sky when a large, unwieldy stone slipped from my grasp and took the fingernails off my right index and middle fingers. It still hurts.
Her right hand was the first of her to come into view, severed messily from the forearm just beneath it. Slowly, bit by bit, I revealed her. Arm, shoulder, thigh, face, torso… the body of Korbato Aleksandra was laid before me. The oozing stumps are hypnotic in the way the blood pulses from them. And even stained with blood and filth and in pieces, she was is beautiful. I tried my best to be reverent with her, but the empty pack I brought with me is only just big enough with some creative positioning of her parts. Even then, I was forced to place her head in a separate sack to hang at my belt.
The journey back to the waystation was almost the end of me. As arduous as it had been going in, returning with an extra body's worth of weight across my back and after moving the cairn stones as darkness was falling was nearly enough to kill me. The one blessing of it all was that her bleeding had stopped. It happened individually with each piece as I lifted her from her grave and tucked her away in my pack. She knew. She knew I was here to take her away from this place, to return her to a life unfairly stolen.
The lights of the waystation were a welcome sight, even if I wasn’t. The small group there, including my now very unenthusiastic driver, was not thrilled by the sight of me—covered in blood and muck—tumbling in through the door of the small tavern. They tried to push me back out into the dark. But it is remarkable how even a sloppily conjured sigil of flame can cow such simple yokel minds. I informed my driver that he could either take me back, or I could take his wagon as my own.
So now, I sit in the back of his wagon, back on the way to Rokomuro; sore, tired, and desperately craving a bed but successful. I dare not sleep, or even think of resting and lowering my guard. I’ve not come so far as to take a shiv in my sleep and have my body dumped in this disgusting bogwater stretch of countryside. The sack holding Aleksandra’s head is on my lap as I write this. It serves to remind me of everything I’ve spent and everything I stand to gain. I hope her current accommodations are acceptable. I will treat her with the respect she deserves when we return to Kamenoroko.
—---
1-15-1731-3
Aboard Her Majesty’s Silver, bound for Kamenoroko
At last, some modicum of civilization, a private suite aboard one of the finest mechanical constructions ever set to rail.
I am itchy with anticipation. I am eager to be home, to my own bed, the luxury of heated water for a long bath. But I am excited to get Aleksandra back to my labs, most of all. I can’t help opening the sack containing her head just to look at her. I spoke to her last night. I have no idea if it makes any difference, but I like to think it does. I wiped the mud and muck and blood from her face and introduced myself and explained who I was and how I sought to help her. I told her how much I sympathized with her and how unfair it was the way those ignorant mongrels treated her.
It was hideously intimate. Sitting there, leaning on the table top, my arms circling her severed head. I couldn't help myself, touching her face. Her skin is astonishingly soft and smooth despite a century of exposure and death. I feel some small stretch of shame for how I played with her hair as I spoke to her.
Why am-
—---
—---
-[:Transcript of audio recovered from a wax cylinder found in the labs of Palakarno Nina:]-
PN: Today is… the third day of Neĝanta in the year 1731 of the the Third Age. I am Doctor Palakarno Nina and the following audio document is a continuing record of my experiments into the boundaries of life and death.
PN: Before me, upon my operating slab, lies the remains of Korbato Aleksandra; a healer and scientist unfairly persecuted and-... For simplicity’s sake, I will refer to her as “Subject” for the duration of this recording and all future recordings.
[There is the sound of static, and the sound of Nina clearing her throat]
PN: Subject perished approximately ninety-seven years ago. Despite this, the subject shows no sign of rot or decay, indeed, appearing as though her wounds were only just inflicted. Cause of death is difficult to narrow down, but very likely was caused by dismemberment or decapitation.
[Nina pauses to clear her throat again, a notably frustrated edge appears in her voice]
PN: Subject suffered a number of burns created by crude brands, most prevalent on her back and legs. Worth noting as well are a multitude of bruises, scrapes, cuts, and broken bones. With only a cursory survey, it is safe to surmise that all of her ribs are broken and her skull is fractured. Pending a more invasive autop- er, vivisection, it is hard to speculate as to the status of her internal organs, but they are likely in need of attention as well.
PN: The most gratuitous visual damage done to her body was a crude dismemberment. Judging by the ragged edges of the wounds, the instrument was not properly sharpened. Her limbs have been severed at all major points of articulation: ankles, knees, hips, shoulders, elbows, wrists. The... exposed musculature in the wounds is stiff and inflexible; a common rigor mortis but curiously at odds with the fact that she is still alive, in a way. I have arranged the subject in a proper configuration and have… previously washed her body to prepare for the procedure.
[There is a brief stretch of silence]
PN: …Also worth noting is that the Subject’s skin reacts to stimuli. While being washed and arranged on the slab, her skin reacted to the cold and became covered in goosebumps. Likew-
[The recording cuts off abruptly into static for several seconds, Nina’s voice can be heard indistinctly]
PN: -pect the procedure to take several days. I intend to use shadow thread to stitch her back together. It will allow for much more precision in the minutia of her veins and arteries as well as creating greater bonds for healing muscle. But this process will take time and be quite exhaustive. However, I am optimistic that I can begin the second phase of the operation within the week.
[Nina sighs deeply and inaudibly mutters under her breath before the recording ends]
—---
—---
-[:Excerpts taken from the private journal of Palakarno Nina, dried bloody finger prints smear across the pages:]-
3-15-1731-3
Home
I-
—---
4-15-1731-3
Home
Deviance. That is the only word for it.
Yes, her body responds to stimulus because she is not truly dead. But she is not truly alive either; she has no pulse, she does not breathe, there is no measurable brain activity. That is why I sought her out. Perhaps I could aid her, help her out of this cursed unlife and back into something more whole. And her mind paired with my own, we together could spearhead scientific and medical discoveries that could revolutionize everything we know. With her intimate knowledge of death, itself, the very mysteries of life would be ours to pick apart; to make into something that could serve us.
Washing the century of dried blood and swamp filth from her skin revealed surprising things. Reaction to temperature, for one. The cold of the slab causing goose bumps to erupt across her skin was shocking, but not nearly as much as finding that my warm hand could chase them away. While I washed one of her hands and cleaned one-hundred-year old dirt from beneath her nails, I swear I felt her fingers tighten around mine, if only for a split second. What’s more was watching her skin flush beneath my fingers. It reminded me of a girl from my academy days, how we once blew off steam together between classes by risking a tumble in a supply closet. She had been the same way, flushing bright pink wherever I would touch. Her grasping, trembling fingers bunching up in the front of my robes as we engaged.
All of it is explained away simply as reaction, the effect following a cause. Because, despite all of this, her skin remains the icy cold of death.
Less explainable is my behavior in the lab. Deviance, madness, one of the two.
Her body responds to tou-
Her body respon-
She responds to touch. She became aroused as I touched her. Can she hear me? Can she tell that I find her attractive as well? It can’t mean nothing.
—---
—---
-[:Transcript of audio recovered from a wax cylinder found in the labs of Palakarno Nina:]-
[There are several seconds of static-laced silence as the recording starts, when Nina speaks she sounds notably flustered]
PN: I- She, Aleksandra, she moves. I-
[After a brief pause, during which Nina can be heard breathing heavily, she resumes more calmly]
PN: Sub- Subject has clearly demonstrated limited capacity for movement. I-
[Nina growls and huffs loudly, speaking quickly once she resumes and eventually calming]
PN: Today is the fifth day of Neĝanta, 1731, Third Age. For the past two days, I have labored at the strenuous process of stitching together the Subject’s left arm; reconnecting her at the joints of wrist, elbow, and shoulder. My decision to use shadow thread was, of course, a wise one. Not only am I knitting back together flesh, but reattaching and repairing bone as well as reconnecting muscle, tendon and veins. Shadow thread has allowed me a level of precision few could ever hope to match with their bare hands. For as lengthy and exhaustive as the process is, it shall pay dividends in the latter stages of the procedure…
[Nina lapses into silence, during which there is only the sound of static on the recording]
PN: I… was halfway through reattaching her shoulder when-... she moved. She drummed her fingers on the slab. I heard it. Saw it, just from the corner of my eye, but I’m sure-
[Nina’s voice trails out into static, her voice indistinct for a couple of seconds]
PN: -ad intended to save reattaching her head for last. I wonder if-
[A loud burst of static completely cuts off Nina’s voice and persists for almost a full minute. As the static fades, Nina can be heard faintly, moaning]
PN: Aleksandra, Aleksan-...
[Static once more drowns out Nina's voice. When it fades, Nina has resumed speaking, though her voice is strained while she mutters to herself]
PN: -so wet. Enjoyable, isn't it? I will hurry, I promise. Not long, not long at all...
—---
—---
-[:Excerpts taken from the private journal of Palakarno Nina, dried bloody finger prints have traced out the words ALL FOR SOME COLD DEAD CUNT across the pages:]-
9-15-1731-3
Home
I am losing my mind ~~I am losing my mind~~ I am losing I am losing my mind my mind I am my mind I am losing my mind I am ~~losing my mind~~ I am losing ~~my mind~~
—---
15-15-1731-3
Home
It had been that way with the girl from the academy. There had been something about her that I couldn't quite put my finger on that initially drew me to her. She was a meek little thing, but so incredibly bright. I can’t even remember her name now. But I can remember the stink of that dingy little supply closet. I remember it just as strongly as I remember the scent of her hot, wet cunt. I remember how she fought against me, she hadn’t been interested at first, but I am irresistible. Who wouldn't want my attentions?
And Aleksandra, I smelled it on her too. How could I not? My hands constantly all over her, turning her warm while I put her back together. That gorgeous, delicious musk of arousal. She is getting just as excited as I am, and she’ll be grateful too. I just hope my impatience can be forgiven. Surely, she will understand. It is no sin to love life the way we do. How could it be held against me to love her before she’s awake to enjoy it with me?
She is almost done. And she is coming together beautifully. I have gone days and nights working to restore her. I've forsaken food and sleep to hasten the process. Her limbs are reunited with her body. Her wounds are healing; the burns and welts and cuts scarring over with darkened skin. They had been ugly before, the vicious red pains inflicted upon her, but now they are alluring and eye-catching. They now highlight her rather than diminish her.
She is so beautiful. I've made sure to wash her multiple times, especially after my indiscretions with her. I've even brought her a few bottles of my favorite perfume, wondering if she'd have a favored pick of them. Through a series of minuscule twitches of her cheek, I have hopefully determined that she is a fan of vanilla.
I have these foolish daydreams for when she finally wakes up. Her eyes are the most astonishing shade of blue I've ever seen, but they are still and glassy beneath her eyelids. To see them full of life and grateful enthusiasm will be the grandest reward of this entire venture, I think. More than getting to pick apart life and all of the vagaries that come with it. To see her smile, and to see her eyes glitter, to hear her thank me for all of my efforts.
I need only finish reattaching her head. Just a little longer, sweet Aleksandra.
They'll see in time just how wrong they were.
—---
—---
-[:Transcript of audio recovered from a wax cylinder found in the labs of Palakarno Nina:]-
[When the recording starts, Nina sounds notably exhausted but satisfied]
PN: Today-... Today is the seventeenth of Neĝanta, 1731, Third Age. I, Doctor Palakarno Nina, exile of that so-called academy of imperious lackwits, have successfully restored the body of Korbato Aleksandra to one piece. This arduous task was completed exclusively through the use of shadow thread, my own dexterity, and an unwavering dedication to my goals.
[Nina pauses to take a deep breath]
PN: Momentarily, I will begin the arguably simple yet most critical stage of this endeavor by introducing low currents of electricity to Aleksandra's body through the use of titanium probes inserted into core muscle clusters. My hope- My belief is that with Aleksandra's unliving stasis, the electric stimulus will provide a gentle wake up, so to speak. Paired with this, I intend to magically urge her along with modified versions of Grizabarba's Three Seals of Life. While normally intended for the preservation of life in a medical setting, my modifications should prove sufficient in returning life.
[There are several long moments of silence filled only with the soft clattering of objects being moved around]
PN: The... titanium probes are now in place. And-
[A loud click is heard, followed by a continuous soft hum]
PN: -the generator is started. As expected, the low current is causing muscle spasms within her b- Aleksandra's body. It- It is almost-
[Nina chuckles softly]
PN: -hypnotic. The allure she- Such simple motions already make her seem so alive. I-... find it so difficult to stay my hand, even more so, now. Her skin is still so cold but to actually feel her moving beneath my fingers is so far beyond intoxica-
[A loud burst of static cuts off Nina's voice momentarily, she is moaning when she becomes audible again]
PN: -give me, Aleksandra. I cannot help myself. The things you do to me. Can you feel it? Can you feel how badly my body needs yours? I'm so wet, Aleksandra. I ache every time I lay eyes on you. Every time I touched you putting you together was an agonizing ecstacy. I need your hands on me, Aleksandra, and not because I put them there.
[Nina's voice sinks to a barely audible whisper over the noise of the generator]
PN: Aleksandra... You are so cold against me, atop this stainless steel slab, but not for long. I will make you warm again, Aleksandra. This immaculate flesh, these gorgeous breasts, that gorgeous cunt. And these lips- purple and tasting of such sweet rot- Mnf, Aleks-...
[For several long minutes, Nina does not speak and the only sounds audible over the generator are her moans and gasps and a soft, wet squishing before a loud burst of static cuts her off]
PN: -als of Grizabarba have long been theorized of being capable of so-called "necromantic potential" but the exploration of such has long been considered a taboo practice. Indeed, it is worth demerits at the academy for even mentioning and genuine pursuit of the topic can result in unjust and unfair expulsion. But, after many long hours of research and practice, I do believe that I have uncovered a successful modification of the Seals that will return Korbato Aleksandra to life.
PN: The seals are traditionally painted across the shoulderspan of the patient: the first two on either shoulder and the third at the base of the throat over the clavicles. However, along with modifications to the seals themselves, I have placed them in a vertical configuration: the first on the forehead, the second just below the navel, and the third atop the sternum...
[Nina trails off, sounding nervous when she resumes speaking]
PN: I- I need now to only infuse the seals with mana and Ale-
[A loud and lengthy burst of static interrupts the recording, garbled speech is audible beneath. Nina can be heard screaming amid the sound of metallic crashes and breaking glass. When the static finally fades, Nina can be heard, panicked]
PN: -ease, please, Aleks- Al-, I didn’t mean t-
[The voice of Korbato Aleksandra comes in loud and clear, unimpeded by static and sound transfer of the wax cylinder]
KA: You didn't mean to violate my body?
PN: N-no, no, no, I- You- You were-
[Nina’s voice cuts off sharply, the sound of her retching and gagging can be heard]
KA: You didn't mean to treat me the same way the men who killed me did? Did you suppose your honeyed words about my beauty would placate me once I woke? Some flattery about my pretty cunt would make it alright, what you did? They raped me too, Nina. For days. They spent days raping and torturing me, simply because they didn't like the idea that a woman could be more valuable than them. And they didn't even bother trying to sugarcoat it.
[The sounds of cracking bone, ripping flesh, and tearing cloth becomes audible. Something wet hits the floor]
KA: In my final hours, I swore my soul to anything listening for the ability to harm those who harmed me. Do you understand what sort of agony it takes for someone who pledged their life to healing to want to hurt and kill, Nina?
[Nina screams but the sound is muffled and she devolves into frantic whimpering and panicked gasps]
KA: Is this worth it? Is this pain worth getting to put your fingers inside me? Is it worth the way you got to rub my face between your thighs? Mm, I hope so. And now, my fingers are inside you. I'm going to take you apart, Nina, from the inside out. But don’t worry, you were kind enough to put me back together, so I shall fix you when I’m done breaking you. I’ll put you back together, and then take you apart in a new way. So, never fear, your wish has come true.
We’ll be working together for a long time.
—---
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