#id like to thank basilpaste stitchseq for inspiring me to actually think out what in the world lisa would do for a dagger equivalency

[nullapophenia]

untitled work (Protoflicker, chapter 2)

271 words, rated T : Warnings - Self Harm/Suicide

You're getting impatient. Surely there's a faster way to restart, right? (When you don't have any weapon but your fists, how do you go about dying?)

{You're incredibly conscious of your own body.}

{Every single piece of it, every muscle fiber, every layer of skin, every vein that runs through your flesh, powering you like a machine.}

{You're intimately familiar with all the gears that work together to form you.}

{You hand-crafted them yourself, after all.}

{But.}

{That means you're intimately familiar with the exact gears that, when taken out, will cause the whole machine to fall apart.}

{You've gotten impatient these last few loops. You're starting to hate the trip to find a Tear, even if it's not really that far from your designated Safe Rooms.}

{You have an urge in your bones to go faster. Make up the time. Pick up the pace to spend as little time as possible in this Change-forsaken prison of a House so you can finally leave.}

{ . . . }

{The neck.}

{The neck contains the most vital connection to the rest of your body.}

{Sever that connection, and it'll be over, right?}

{You've established to yourself that dying makes you loop. Anything that means you can't continue on. So...}

{You wait until no one's looking.}

{You take a deep breath, steeling yourself.}

{You bring your hands up to your face and press in.}

{Swift motions, Isabeau.}

{Minimize pain.}

{Maximize damage.}

{Cut off access in one}

{swift}

{motion}

{ You twist your own neck.}

{ And then}

"-- ISA???"

{Oh no}

{You fall to the ground, still conscious.}

{You can't breathe.}

{This was not swift or painless.}

{Your party swarms your sides.}

{You can't hear them.}

{You feel healing craft but it's too late, now.}

{ . . . }

{You'll do better next time.}

{You

feel

a tug

and then