so sickly sweet it burns

Dominique walked with a skip to her step, smiling and tipping her hat to any passerby on the streets she saw. Oh, what a wonderful day it was! Success at last! Only now to use it on herself, of course.

The passersbys smiled back at her act, and at her brilliant, bright clothes. One stopped to ask if she was part of the circus, to which Dominique smiled and with a grin introduced herself as “Mx. Bobezac, yes! That’s me! The walking circus! Any delight you want, any time!” and to that, the stranger lit up in excitement. But Dominique couldn’t entertain them tonight, so she tsked and waved a finger and said, “Next time, next time! I’ve business to attend to, I’m so very sorry!” She plastered on one of her sweetest smiles, and the stranger melted right into it, their eyes shining with apology.

When she returned to her dingy apartment full of potions and science equipment, she grinned, quickly getting to work on mixing blood and DNA and a million other ingredients into the same serum, at a stronger dose than she had used on the kalon earlier that day.

When she was done, she injected it without further ado. She had wanted to do this ever since that day on the playground, with those sneering children looking down at her.

Her goop limbs flaked away, and the goop around her ribcage dried up and fell into ash on the bottom of the floor. With wide eyes, Dominique grabbed her prosthetics with her toes and inserted them with ease, magic gluing them to her body, fully-functional. She had slaved away with the best of the body auto mechanics industry for months on these babies! With quick hands, she inserted the connector for her back legs and a cast to fill out her chest before putting back on her tunic and cloak, along with brand new, elaborate cuffs for her arms.

Dominique sat back and marveled at the beauty of it all, the freeing-ness of it, before whooping for joy. To anyone else, it would be seen as a bitter joy. It was one borne of the need to fix herself after years of unfilling life, at the consequence of many other, innocent lives.

But Dominique did not care for such things, not when the joy blinded her eyesight with stars and her neighbor knocked on her door, and Dominique gleefully answered, showing off her brand-new limbs. Her neighbor smiled, and said, “Yes, it is quite wonderful! I’ve never seen past your wonderfully bright gears, perhaps you should show off this style more often!” To which Dominique answered with a smile and a thank you, of course, before closing the door.

No-one of the Vekar Empire had ever seen the true form of arms, not since she constructed her hypnosis gears. Finally, she no longer had to wear those clunky things.

. . . 

Until three days later, when in public, talking to a Knight officer about the murders of all things, that goop began seeping into her gears and causing Dominique’s arm to fall limp.

“Are you alright, Mx. Bobezac?” The officer asked, concern in his eyes. Bobezac was nothing but an upstanding, kind citizen to him: in fact, she had just been helpfully giving him advice for the investigation. Likely a rogue, she’d said. But I wouldn’t worry too much! Another officer will catch them soon, or they will go away on their own, she’d said.

Dominique smiled sweetly at the officer, crinkling the edge of her eyelids even as she felt what was inside of her shutting down, going quiet with a great whip of sorrow straight to her heart. “Not a problem, sir. I just don't feel very well at the moment, I really think I should be heading home. Hope everything will turn out alright. Thank you!” With one final strained smile and her arm cradled to her chest, Dominique made for a brisk walk home, panic weighing her down behind her sweet mask.

When she got home, she curled into the floor and watched as her prosthetics were forced out of her arms in shambles, her natural-born goop creeping back in to fill the gaps.

She didn’t leave the apartment for days, after that. Dominique stared at her broken work, the moment rewinding again and again in her mind. She was used to this, her face pressed against the floor, her stomach gnawing with hunger and her mouth dry with thirst. The depression paralyzed her, only rarely getting onto her feet for water. It was a cycle she had experienced much of her life: the most wonderful of highs brought down to the lowest of lows.

Dominique closed her eyes and let it pass.