Pain. It was all Nyx could register, and that in itself was almost surreal, given she was so inebriated. Not by choice, of course. The cultists leading the ritual had forced it down her, some wretched mixture of sorts; it did its duty, keeping her compliant, yet still sadly conscious. They were doing it again, that forsaken rite.
As was custom for dark followers, Nyx was laid on a slab of stone, like some offering to a god. The space around her was littered with collected trinkets, from fragmented crystals to (supposed) relics of old. Even intoxicated, Nyx still thrashed, her half-hearted attempts doing little to dissuade her captors. Her hands and feet, like always, were tied down. The cultists couldn’t have her moving too much, not whilst applying the last of her tattoos.
The process was agonizing. In slow, methodical strokes, they carved into her, the markings now traversing much of her face. Cheeks, chin, nose, and upper brow, all stained black with the symbols of darkness. She screamed, the colored pigment setting her skin ablaze. Sickeningly, the cultists encouraged her cries. They even praised it, reveling in the sordid noise. Pain was good, pain was a path to darkness and now that she was marked, she was a part of that darkness. Always.
Like the trapped animal that she was, Nyx scratched and clawed at her bonds, her mind growing more feverish as mania set in. Barely conscious, she didn’t even register what had now come into her grasp. It was one of the crystals, pale in color, yet not as vile as some of the red variants. It felt strangely cool to the touch, a shard of ice amongst flames.
No more. Make it stop...help...someone, please...help.
@Nefieslab