Wretched One Wretched One

[lemonke 6014]

Spoiler

 

 

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There was, Igarashi Jorogumo, the Spider—a villain infamous for her curses. Once, she reveled in godlike pride, feeling grand and invincible as an empress holding the cosmos in her hands. Her strength was undeniable, her ambitions supported by a horde that followed her every command. She believed herself untouchable. But as years passed, madness crept into her mind like a disease, spreading to her heart like a living tumor. One by one, she lost everything and everyone dear to her. Despite her overwhelming arrogance, she began to see through it. She realized her empire had crumbled, leaving behind only emptiness. The void surrounded her—no allies, no comrades to ease her sorrow, only the gnawing curse of decay consuming her very essence.

She clawed at her head with trembling, dull talons, gripping the colorful silks of her jester’s mask. Blood dripped as her jagged teeth released fractured cackles and whispered cries. Alas, her father, her twin, her master, her most loyal subject—all lost, victims of her weakness. Now, even her last disciple sought to betray her, determined to destroy the twisted legacy she had built with her own hands. He who practiced a false god. He who wants to take over. What a tragedy.

“Everyone… they all want to take everything and everyone from me. ALL OF THEM, ONE BY ONE! WHERE IS HONOR AMONG THE WICKED? WHY IS EVERYONE SO FOOLISH? DON’T THEY KNOW WHO I AM?!”

Who was she? A simple question, yet one with a hurtful answer. She was no one—just a mad hag, a clown lost in delusions. This truth began to dawn on her, but as the searing sorrow consumed her being, she struggled to grasp it fully. In this instance, mortal emotions were foreign to her dark, twisted mind due to deriving from a more mundane dilemma. Furthermore, pain and sadness stabbed at her with a crude lunge, yet their purpose remained elusive to her. Her unholy weaving arts had severed her from embracing her mortal side and understanding it, leaving her trapped in a horrific state of confusion, living between two worlds—one of life and one of death as if she could feel the pain but could not locate the wound. A cruel, haunting torture.

“They don’t understand,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “They don’t know who I am. I can’t be forgotten. I won’t be forgotten. Help, please… PLEASE! DO NOT LEAVE!”

The once-agonized roars faded, giving way to hushed, broken whimpers—like those of a lost child. Her bloodied fingers, torn and trembling, clutched her own foul flesh in a desperate embrace. She sought solace in herself, the only source of comfort left in a cruel world, with a cursed body, and a fractured mind. In her isolation, one truth remained: she was her own constant, her only loyal companion, incapable of betraying herself.

 

Yet her torment was far from over. For now, she lingered in that dark void, alone and forgotten, with only the hollow promise of rising again and tunes of maddened laughs.

"KAKAKAHAHAHA! KEHEEHAHAH!!"

This time, there was no hope for the Wretched.

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Spoiler

A small private post of my character! An onset of her arc and probably development where it'll lead how I want to roleplay her as a necromancer. Thanks for reading!