Red chocolate seeped from her skin.
Attendant succu-crabs lapped it up, even though their harsh scraper/mandibles made her cry out in pain.
Further away, soul cretins fed on her pain and despair. Beyond them, scoff fungi absorbed the screaming and grew fat. The fungi glowed like rows of little Roman candles. Nothing fed them better than cries of pain from a woman in the chocolate throes of succu-crabs.
If the red chocolate stopped they would discard her worn-out shell and supplant her with another.
She waited for the end, willed it on. Instead her body kept supplying, gleaming crimson even in the light already red.
Beneath her, brittle-sharp nail slugs protruded and pulsated and formed her bed. They sang away, a cocoon croon that dragged at her memories, pinched away her name, sucked her will.
All worked in concert: the vibrating slugs tore red chocolate for the succu-crabs, the scraper/mandibles ripped screams for the scoff fungi, and despair...despair for the soul cretins created and castrated itself in an eternal cycle.
Red light drenched the walls, emanating from everywhere and emaciating all that it touched. Beyond the rows of scoff fungi, fleshy walls writhed and rippled, expanding and contracting with an opium rhythm.
The light flickered.
The end, she thought. Perhaps the end had finally come.
The light dimmed, but subsisted. The scraper/mandibles of the succu-crabs clacked and lapped and drew their screams.
Hope left her, born away on faecal currents. The end would never come, she knew. While the menstrual light and the instruments of her torture kept her conscious, she would linger. Even as the light subsisted, so too would she subsist.
And the chocolate she made.