Sasha's a creppie grl.
In the dark and damp recesses of the Palin monastery lay a small decrepit frame of little more than skin and bone. Through a single small set of bars came not sunlight of starlight, but the faint flickering of candles lining the long gothic dormitory corridor. The room itself was little more than a collection of rags and a stinking bucket of human waste that filled the room with a fetid stench of faeces and urea. From the spot where it lay, the figure could hear soft grunts, strained breathing, and frantic whispering from those in the other rooms lining that hall. The floor was cold and hard under the figure's meager weight and pressed against it and it's numerous leaking lashes. The only warmth came from the small pool of blood around its knees and dribbling down its back.
To those who knew of the horrors of the corridor, let alone the downright tortures of the main building, this was a blissful relief between gruelling sessions of worship, sacrifice, and severe indoctrination. The fanatics who ran the holy educational building were given the divine duty to educate these poor children on the Devourer's cruel ways, its uncaring nature, and the importance of remaining bland and unappealing. Not only that, but the most important thing of all was understanding that the end was coming; the end was inevitable; and the end was terrible. Not only accepting this but welcoming it was one of the core principles of this Church and they believed wholeheartedly that anyone who believed in anything less was a disgusting heretic. The children in their care were not to be gently nurtured, but sinners who were to be destroyed entirely and remade the correct way. To that end, if any of the child-skin-wearing sinners died, then that was simply the Devourer's great plan and was simply meant to be. After all, if a sinner was too weak to will themselves through salvation, then they weren't worth saving at all.
The figure trembled to its feet. Amongst the cacophony of pain and misery, there was only one sound that shifted from the norm. From the almost skeletal figure came a soft grunt as it bit into the flesh of its fingertips, letting blood flow despite the already considerable amount it had parted with already. It did not stumble, hobble, or limp. No, it did not shuffle or move as though fighting off the rot that plagued the undead nations of Mortum. It dragged itself over the stony bricks that were the floor, skin on the soles of its feet peeling off with every motion from the extensive moisture they had been exposed to. To the far wall of the room, or more appropriately "cell", it moved and began to paint. Paint in its disgusting blacked and diseased blood, leaving thick oozing trails that resembled more the goop left behind from some of the fleshy abominations on Mastikhan. Patterns emerged from its morbid artwork. Tales of savagery, hate, and despair interwoved in illegible writings and all with a central theme of an eternal famine that plagued the very land they stood on, deeper than any earth a mere mortal could so much as conceive of. And yet to the simple observer, all the figure drew was a collection of tendrils surrounding a giant gaping maw, its blood forming the appropriate drool that one might imagine within such a mouth.
Before long, the figure finally finished, its macabre depiction of its mind layn out for all to see, a soft glow of gold emanating from beneath a ragged collection of matted hair, dirt, and other less savoury things. The two orbs beneath: the eyes of the figure came to life as it gazed at the world with a new light. A light tinkle on the floor was the only warning it got before there was another and another, blood leaking from its gums and causing it to swallow the dark fluid to keep what little it had left inside. As it turned away from its masterpiece, crouching down to collect the teeth that had fallen from its mouth into the palm of one shaking hand. The glow in its eyes grew stronger and stronger. With a swift motion, the figure knocked back its head and swallowed the small chunks of enamel. As it did, the pattern on the wall shimmered with a glow now magic user had seen before. It was quite clearly Power magic, but it was more intricate than that. More refined. As the figure swallowed each piece of itself with little regard for chewing or its health, the shimmer refined itself more and more until finally, with the last piece of tooth disappearing down its oesophagus, it burst off the wall and drenched the figure in a thick layer of its own fluid, staining the skin and marring it with powerful magic.
Moments later, the figure collapsed once more, the thick substance coating it hardened and crystallised before finally evaporating as the last of the magic passed from it into the body of the figure. Its ragged breathing slowed into a controlled and measured intake and exhale of air. Its malnourished body stopped trembling from a lack of sustenance or warmth and simply rested its weary musculature. Its gaze stopped being that of a dying animal and shifted into that of a ravenous monster. The metamorphosis had finished and soon it began to drift off, though not before swallowing each fingertip and fragment of skin from its feet it had left behind in its movements. Those piercing golden orbs slowly, but surely, dimmed into the soft glow of the moon. Sasha had fallen asleep.