Chapter Text
YOU ARE THE MATRIX
A searing pain down the length of her back, radiating from the gaping maw of a wound sewn shut by clumsy fingers, stitching with the muscle memory of someone whose muscles don’t quite have a memory of their own yet, save for that inherited from their creator.
EVERYTHING COMES FROM YOU
A dull throb between her vertebrae, deep, deep inside, the very marrow of her bones licked clean with a needle wielded by a hungry creature, knowing nothing yet of the world but that she needs to stay in it.
EVERYTHING IS YOU
A warm body sprawled across her, limp, lifeless, but there all the same. Firm breasts pressed to hers, a sharp jawline cutting into her sternum, arms wound around her in something like an embrace, or what someone who’s never felt one on their own form would imagine it to be.
THIS IS SIMPLY A BETTER VERSION OF YOURSELF
Elisabeth’s unblinking eyes focus for the first time in a week, a scream clawing its way from her throat as she shudders at the memories of pain melding with the reality of it under the harsh white lights of her bathroom. She pants, suffocated by luscious brown hair, and the expanse of Sue’s smooth-skinned body, and shoves her off herself unceremoniously.
Scrambling back, Elisabeth clutches at her wound like it’ll hold her together, and trains her wild eyes on the ragdoll lying on her bathroom floor, the beautiful dead but not dead living but not living thing that is her but someone else, that she birthed but did not. The stitches in her back throb as she remembers feeling her climb out, fighting her way into this world.
Slowly, like she’s scared of what she’ll find when she gets there, Elisabeth crawls around Sue’s crumpled form, coming face to face with her creation.
She’s perfect.
Too perfect, almost, even in this state. Trembling fingers reach out to touch, to push an errant strand of soft hair out of her face, away from those pouty baby doll lips and perfect skin.
This is her. A product of her own body, her very being, the better version of herself that she was promised.
It feels almost wrong to see her like this, that face sculpted for light and laughter so slack and lifeless. Elisabeth runs her thumb over Sue’s plush bottom lip, pulling the corner up to see how a smile would look on her. It’s oddly charming, this half smirk she’s painting on her face, and Elisabeth finds herself wanting to see it for real, to exist at the same time as her other self, to find out who she is.
Curiosity burns through her, a fascination of sorts sparking the longer she sits there playing with Sue’s perfect face, testing out different expressions on it. A frowny little pout, a radiant grin, an indignant scowl, a demure smile. They sit a bit unnaturally, shaped by another’s fingers on a lax face as they are, but she’s pretty enough to make it work.
She really did make something perfect.
Elisabeth’s hands drift lower, exploring, stroking, and squeezing her way down Sue’s body.
This is the fruit of her labor, and she deserves a taste, doesn’t she? Deserves to feel what it is she bought with neon green poison in her veins and pain like she’s never felt before down her back.
There, in that nebulous in-between place where she’d spent the past week, where Sue now finds herself, time isn’t quite the same, sensation a dizzying concept. She remembers slipping into it as Sue crawled out of her, and she remembers waking to a cacophony of pain. In between that, time passed as if she didn’t exist at all, there one moment and gone the next, almost like she simply skipped that week entirely.
But she does remember feeling.
Feeling there isn’t like it is here, but it's still there. Being alone on the cold floor didn’t register there, but those times when Sue would come in to check on her, oh they were clear as day. She remembers feeling her fingers on her skin as she pulled the fluid from her spine, remembers the way she patted her hair when she’d come to check on the feed bag. She thinks she even managed a pained moan at some point, and that earned her a few soothing strokes on her side.
Elisabeth cups her pert breast, flicking her thumb over her nipple, and wonders how Sue would react if she was here, really here.
Would she push her away, or would she shiver and arch into her?
Her hand slips lower, running along the dip of her waist, down to her perfectly shaped ass, fondling it with something like pride, like envy, like desire.
If she was awake, would she gasp, or would she moan?
With a parting squeeze, she drifts, tracing over her toned stomach, down to the apex of her thighs.
How would those lips look, sighing and moaning for her?
Delicately, like she’s playing with a doll she couldn’t stand to break, Elisabeth pushes her thighs apart and runs a finger up the length of her slit, finding it smooth and soft and just as perfect as the rest of her.
Would Sue’s thighs clench shut or would she splay them wider, urge her on?
She circles her clit with a featherlight touch, and when she presses on it a shaky exhale comes from Sue, disturbing the steady pattern of barely there breaths that she’d grown used to. Elisabeth pauses, feeling heat run through her core, and does it again, just to hear Sue’s precious little sigh again.
How does she like it, soft and sweet or rough and merciless?
As she plays with her clit, Elisabeth feels her grow wet, the body responding even with the mind far away. She dips a finger inside her, exploring, feeling, reveling in her creation. When she adds another Sue breathes harder and it spurs her on to curl them inside her, moving faster, desperate to see what other reactions she can draw out of this beautiful creature. Pressing her thumb to Sue’s clit while she pumps in and out earns her a thin, high inhale, almost a gasp, and it feels like success, feels like winning.
What would she sound like, if she wasn’t in the dark place, would her moans be the pitchy little porn star things that her look suggests or something lower, more feral?
Sue doesn’t move when she cums, save for the fluttery spasming of her perfect cunt, and Elisabeth can’t help but pray that her eyes will open, that she’d get the chance to do this with her girl awake, to see how she looks in that moment, arching and squirming and whining for more.
But alas, those gold lined lids stay closed and her breaths return to the steady negligible pace that this state induces, and Elisabeth sighs, accepting that she’ll have to content herself with knowing that eventually it will be Sue’s turn to live, and then at least the world would get to see her full of life, even if she never will.
Eventually, she finds the strength to tear herself away from the captivating pull of Sue’s form and limps around the bathroom, gathering supplies to take care of her other self. This girl came from her, crawled from her split open back, a perfect perversion of the natural order of birth and aging, and she’s hers to care for when it's her turn to be the one in the dark place.
Elisabeth hooks her up to the milky bag of feed and watches her veins suckle at it greedily, like a little lamb from its mother’s teat. She strokes her hair back, propping her head on a soft towel, and bends to press a kiss to her soft lips, unmoving yet warm as ever. Whispering a promise to check on her soon, she stands and hobbles out to crawl into bed and nurse her wounds, wounds that bought her the most precious thing of all, her Sue.