Lust of Misanthropy

Epilogue V. It's Alright.

A standard, typical morning. Aside from the lack of quintessentials, and my loss in comfort for my beloved, I was left in misery. Fatigued, I lie on the sofa, head tilted to the side without ambition to lift a muscle. I watched the pallid Yuri with a mundane attitude, a white and strongly-frilled apron cloaking a mild section of her naked body. Her plump, voluptuous butt stuck out from behind her apron, the flimsy, unintentional curlicue of the knot resting winsomely on that gorgeous, ample bottom. One lace dangled in between the crease of her cheeks.

Yuri fiddled with the kitchen instruments, a tranquil smile visible every once in a while when she'd turn to grab something from a drawer. She really seemed to have grown accustom to my organization- which wasn't even organization, I often just threw things in drawers.

She was fixing me breakfast. What went through her head that notified her that I'd feel as if I was running on the mill for breakfast after rending incisions on my limbs and chest was beyond me, but I could eat, nonetheless. I couldn't make out what she was preparing; the food I eat habitually catches up to me when the singe of the meal forms a pleasant scent.

The microwave hummed, and within seconds...

Ah.

Her lowered eyes, lascivious and all, approached my weakened body with an old chintzy plate, steaming with an enticing scent. As I had gathered, bacon; pancakes and bacon.

A distinct, hiraeth-like memory arose to my mind like a mildly burning haze. She made me these before. The arrangement, even, was similar to how she left them out for me before. That wasn't syrup, she spilled, but her blood. She was waiting for me, with dinner, made with an aching heart and a longing for my arrival- and I was making love to a girl who would've allowed me to be the god of this world.

...Pretty fucking nuts, eh?

She sat the plate of chintz on my lap, the warmth the heated cakes passed through the glazed marble comforted my frail thighs. With a soft 'Whew~', she blew the residue off of the sizzling bacon, and common clinker to fall onto her overwrought hands.

Yuri stared at me, the plate, and the sofa awkwardly, moved the plate, and sat on my lap with a gentle, longing kiss upon my lips.

"Ah, haah..." I muttered, as she pressed upon the throes of my flesh, as she straddled me with a snug expression on her face.

In her hand, Yuri held a fork, spiral-like indents creating designs to resemble something like the striking feathers of a phoenix. She picked at the cakes flippantly, held it up to my face, waiting for me to unhinge my jaw.

And, I did, wishing I could wolf the meal down, but both imposed by my inflictions and the beauty lying upon my lap. Soft and sweet, a chunk of each, one by one. Followed by the brittle, toothsome meat.

The meal was flawless. I was impressed.

How the lesions lessened as much as they did within a handful of hours was beyond me, but only painful stings remained on my skin. Of course, the slender streaks along my limbs and chest were nothing compared to the destruction she caused to my shoulder.

I wondered, if Sayori was thinking about me. And along with that, if what Monika mentioned about everyone having no difference whatsoever meant that she was still feeling down.

Clinking, a glass of milk hovered over my temple. Yuri held the glass out to me, "Please drink, pookie," she smiled brightly.