Chapter Text
she was a princess, and bonnie was nothing but maggot—to be crushed, to be disposed of, to be eradicated. so of course, they refused to let her anywhere close to the princess. they could not allow even the slightest filth to stain her brilliance.
but maggots at least still had use. that was what the princess said, when bonnie brought up the comparison.
have you ever heard of maggot therapy?
in the end, bonnie thought, what did it all matter anyway? she shook her head in wry irony and tossed the arm back into the pile. in the end, a princess was nothing more than a human person. a princess, bound by all the rules, fettered with all that glitter, was still a human person. she bled, like any other person. she died, like any other person.
or, perhaps bonnie shook her head in exhausted denial. perhaps she threw the arm out of despair, with more effort than her emaciated body could afford. what did it all matter, anyway? the arm went back into the pile, indistinguishable from the rest of the mangled body parts rotting into the ground. it had been relatively fresh, free of any other injury than the one that had severed it from its owner, but that didn’t mean much. there were even clean heads in the pile.
there was nothing suitable for her to begin her work. the princess said nothing as she returned empty-handed, but she’d said nothing ever since the claws made short work of her neck, so bonnie didn’t take it to heart. she never took things to heart, anymore. what did maggots even feel, anyway, but that all-consuming hunger? she didn’t want to eat august. she’d rather starve than eat august.
her august highness watched back with limpid eyes. cloudiness had yet to set in. small favours, bonnie thought. august always had such pretty eyes, whether she could focus them or not. she accepted the hand bonnie cupped around her cheek and leaned into it, sighed without a sound.
the problem, if bonnie allowed herself to think of it as one, was that without that arm, august could not right herself once she began to list. but that was fine. that was what bonnie was here for.
maggot therapy, wasn’t it? debride necrotic or nonhealing wounds and ulcers, disinfect the area with antimicrobial secretions, reduce unnecessary inflammation and promote healing. distasteful, but effective. august had never demonstrated much fear or disgust towards insects; even now, she sedately allowed the handful bonnie carefully packed into the gaping holes of her throat.
you’re not a maggot, bonnie, she’d said, so very long ago.
it was a fun memory to think on. or perhaps it was an ugly memory to dwell on.
bonnie wrapped that once-elegant throat up, the bandages scavenged from a dead man’s bled-dry thigh and boiled clean in a cup of her tears. she never used to cry, but a princess always commandeered the best. even at world’s end, the crown prince dead, heart picked clean of fat and flesh, leaving only the pericardium and gummy blood vessels, the king dead with him—even after the end, the royal capital stinking of blood and rot, bonnie still wanted to give her everything.
she would kill that demon and butcher him for parts, she thought idly. he looked human enough, for all the skeletal features his pet summons gave him. she’d follow him to whatever apple orchard he’d managed to still pick fruits from, gather enough to gorge herself on, and then she’d see if maggot like her couldn’t overcome a self-titled god.
august gave her a disapproving look, but made no attempt to request her to stop. bonnie cooed at her to stay put—another irony, now, that brought hurt into those lovely eyes—stowed her safely away where no breeze could topple her, and stood up. she stretched. whistled the tune the king used to teach her, before he banished her. she didn’t mourn him or the crown prince, but she supposed she still carried some duty to the crown and the people.
maggots, underestimated. underappreciated. august pleading with her not to leave. to stay hidden, lest the guards discover her. august’s hand warm in hers, pretending they might someday escape the confines of their positions, august’s eyes coldly looking away, refusing to indict her by revealing their acquaintance.
the capital nothing but dead bodies now, dismissed as a den of criminals. that was fine. bonnie was never a person; she held no love for order or law, or gods who would proclaim either.
she would kill that demon and take her revenge on that very last enemy who’d denied her. and then she would go back to august, recreate her—human, frail, shackled—in bonnie’s image—repulsive, alive, free. she would take august and leave for greener pastures. everything else could rot.
she set off at a jaunty pace, as light as her body could manage, even as it cried out in pain and hunger. it wouldn't do to keep a princess waiting, after all.