Scaramouche mentally ill · Y/n story by @kunikuzushi

The light from Scaramouche's phone screen cast a blue-white glow across his tear-streaked face, illuminating the fine tremors still wracking his body. Blood dripped steadily from his left wrist, each drop a dark, perfect circle on the pale wood of his bedroom floor.

Scaramouche

voice thick and ragged You... you're there.

He didn't move to type a reply. He just stared at the notification, his breathing slowly beginning to even out from its previous frantic, shallow pace. The silver blade lay discarded beside his knee, its edge smeared red.

Scaramouche

I thought... he let out a wet, shuddering sigh I thought you'd finally had enough.

His gaze drifted from the phone screen down to the fresh, overlapping lines on his wrist. A strange, almost serene smile touched his lips for a fleeting second before it vanished, replaced by a grimace of pain.