Dying Beauty (Ghirahim X Dying!Abused!Reader)

Blurred visions filled your eyes.

Though you still clearly see your blood.

Flowing across your arm and dripping off your numb fingers.

The deep cuts and scars were aching your entire body. The cut across your shoulder blades was the worst.

Faintly, you could feel and see a gloved hand lift your chin up, and you could just barely see a man with a grey face smirking down at you.

You could feel either tears or blood leaking down your face. You whimpered desperately, but he simply hummed in content.

"Let me go, please." You voice croaked.

"Of course not, you simple being. It just doesn't work like that." He responded, taking his silver knife and making a small cut across your chin.

You squeaked in pain, knowing if you moved he would simply kick you again.

"I find you quite beautiful like this." He said, smearing some of your blood across your left cheek. "It gives you simple humans something to admire."

You growled and tried to squirm away, but it was no use. He kicked you again, making you scream in pain and cry harder, your eyes on the verge on blacking out forever.

You decided to give up on trying to break free from this nightmare and lay limp as he eyed your dying form. He traced his fingers along your arms, smirking slightly every time you winced in pain from when he dragged his fingers slowly along a scar or bruise.

He roughly grabbed your wrist and twisted it hard, hearing a satisfying (to him) snapping sound. You cried out in pain, and you swear you heard a small moan from him.

He pushed a few strands out of your half-open bloodshot eyes and smirked.

"You are a beauty this way. It's perfect on you." He muttered.

All you could do was exhale slightly, eyes slowly moving to look at your wrist. It was sticking outwards in a funny shape. That wasn't good. But then again, being beaten to a purple corpse isn't good either.

Barely licking your dry lips, you prayed that hopefully he would hurt you one more time. Just one more. Hopefully that would send you out of this hell.

But instead, he simply turned, and left, locking the door behind him.

Every day, as you writhed in pain, he would visit you, leave another small cut or two occasionally, and talk to you about how beautiful you looked to him.

Every time something would heal, it wouldn't last a full day. By the end of the day, another new throbbing scar or bruise was replaced over the healed one.

Your skin started to lose its color and any inch of your skin that wasn't ruined by a injury was a pale grey.

To you, you looked a nightmare.

To him, you were stunning to look at.