Chapter Text
I had known Jeanne had broken into my room and read my diary. She's not subtle, and the burnt furniture and door were clues as to who stole my diary.
I'm not mad about that, for the record.
I'm fucking petrified.
Jeanne Alter, Jalter, she's kind of… nuts. Like, she makes me look sane, and I cut myself outside of times when magecraft requires it. If she reads my writings and understands what they mean…
The door to my private bathroom cracks open, bending underneath a servant's might. Pale hands, pale skin, a scent of ash and flame and dragon hide. I do not turn to acknowledge Jalter, but I do draw my legs up against my chest, the recent wounds hidden by my meager bust.
I used to be envious of every other girl who had anything bigger than my B cups. Then I summoned Raikou, and she told me how bad the back pain got at times. The boob sweat was another issue, and I plead the fifth as to what body part Raikou had me use to help her out with that.
Jalter glared at me, her golden eyes burning with emotions I couldn't quite pin down. Anger, frustration, fear, understanding-
‘...fuck.’
“Jalter.” I started, voice rough and hollow. “I'm- it's fin-”
“Shut. Up.”
That was not the voice of my Avenger. That was the voice of the woman who had burnt all of France to the ground just to find me in her Singularity, the voice that had broken me, the voice that had answered my summon. It sent chills down my spine, even as the temperature in the bathroom spiked. The water I was sitting in in the bathtub had been lukewarm, my usual preference for bathing, but it was steadily growing hotter, steam beginning to rise from it. I moved the drain plug with my foot, my eyes never leaving Jalter.
‘Gods, she's beautiful.’
I should hate her for the burn scars that extend across my body, from my chin to my feet. I should hate her for the lives she's taken, the friends she's slain. Instead, all I feel is a mixture of fear and anticipation. I can't help but want to know what she'll do next to me, a fool entranced by the death that awaits her.
My Avenger storms over to me, her feet leaving burnt footprints in their wake. The air around her hisses with heat, and I feel faint at her presence. Her armored hands extend to reach my skin, and I do not hold back the hiss of pleasure and pain from the searing heat of her touch.
Jalter has always hated how I mispronounce French words and speak to her in German to get a rise out of her. It's a bit of odd nationalistic pride in her that I enjoy poking at, because I'm an idiot addicted to the next burn, the next cut, the next painful sensation.
“Hello, dragon witch.” I say, painfully opting to get each syllable wrong as her grip on me tightens. “My, my. What strong grip you have, little dragon.”
“Bitch.” Jalter spits, voice full of venom.
I smile sweetly, darting in to steal a kiss. She doesn't bite me, too stunned by my audacity to react in time. I have the scars to know not to try for a second kiss, not before-
“Ughfhk.” I hiss as her knee plants itself into my gut. Not hard, barely a tap by her standards. To a human, a normal human that is, it's a blow so powerful that the breath would be knocked out of their lungs and their ribs cracked if not broken.
‘Guess she's really mad.’
I fight for air, my lungs aching in the heat. I've fallen forward, slumping into Jalter's grasp, my head resting on her shoulder, my wild orange hair splayed out like a burst pumpkin across a stone field. I can feel one of her hands across my shoulders keeping me upright.
The other…
The other is at my thighs, at my latest wounds. Heat gathers at the tip of her fingers, and I let the screams come freely as my Avenger cauterizes my wounds shut.
Not because it hurts, though it very much so does. No, I scream because I know Jalter likes this, likes hurting and biting and biting and taking, and I like being the thing she does all that to.
I feel her teeth sink into my throat, and I stop pretending the screams slipping out of my mouth are anything but moans and let myself enjoy being taken by a ravaging, rampaging beast.