#when writing it was important to me that walenty comes off as analytical

[floral-comet-whump]

hiiii I got inspired :3

Content warnings: Captivity whump, implied past torture, execution via slitting throat, captive whumpee, whumper pov, minor/child whumper, child abuse, institutionalized whump (hardly noted), fantasy whump (hardly noted)

taglist (I forgot I have one soz): @lordcatwich @chiswhumpcorner

The senior investigator skims the report a final time, nodding. They make a spinning motion with their free hand, and Walenty scurries to get a pen from the counter, walking on their toes to negate the limp. They look away as the other writes something, trying not to fidget or look at the captive.

It's not difficult. The muffled screaming has grown into background noise, just as normal as the scratching of steel on paper or the humming of magic.

The stench of misery haunts the air.

“Alright,” their instructor starts, and Walenty nearly squeaks, quickly remembering to place their hands behind their back. “Kill him.”

They blink, looking up. The older’s gaze doesn't waver. Walenty feels like a dumb child. Why? They want to ask so, so bad. They still hesitate, looking at the floor, then at the still captive, at their eyes, practically frozen. They hear the nigh-silence occupying the chamber now, a stark contrast to the prior white noise.

“You’re not questioning my orders, are you?”

“No-!” The apprentice speaks before they think, racking their brain for an excuse. Lesson, strict teacher, mistakes. “I, um.. I just wanted to ask how! So that I don’t do it wrong. Sir.”

Their teacher raises an eyebrow, fully aware it’s a lie. They hum, deeming it acceptable.

“Whichever is most efficient, then.”

Walenty nods, taking back the dagger they’d used. It’s already plenty dirty and none of the other tools are suitable. It might splash, but the floor is bloodied anyway.

“Is slitting the throat fine, sir?”

“Sure.”

And so they walk up to the ruined human, ignore the muffled screams and squirming as they tilt the head upwards with a firm grip, and slash. They’re fast with it as to not hesitate, immediately ducking away to avoid the blood spray. It doesn’t come, only oozing out. Huh.

Walenty flinches at the touch on their head. They don't dare reject it, though. “You minimized cleanup. Good job, Walenty.”

“...Thank you, sir.”

“Kill him.”

“…Wh—what?”

The young man stared at the kneeling criminal before him, his specific crimes forgotten. He couldn’t do that, not him, he—

The king interrupted his thoughts, carefully and gently setting the knife in the young man’s hand, even curling his fingers around the handle.

“Was I unclear? Kill him.”