2023-04-08 2:58:05 ¶ ●

The thing about blood is that once you’ve seen it you can never really get it out. It has a tendancy to linger, to drip into those places impossible to reach, a slow unnoticeable movement breaking its stagnation. Even if you think you’ve got all of it, chances are you haven’t. The smell lingers, a sickly sweet fuzzy smell tinged with iron that somehow sticks in the back of your throat.

Imagine how much blood there was when Jared Hopworth attacked the institute. We know the boneturner is capable of removing bones with no blood at all but why would he when what he wants to cause is fear? He says that they undid the institute staff for parts, so I’d say they took a hell of a lot more than bones.

That’s not to mention Melanie’s attack with the knife, God knows how much blood Jared and his “perfect” friends had in their eldritch bodies, but if that knife hurt I’m willing to bet that blood was spilled. A lot of blood.

There’s something uncanny about a place where something that awful’s happened. Something in the foundations of the place. In a place with a history as messy as the institute I’m sure there was always something on the air, but that amount of bloodshed never really fades.

Even if you can’t see or smell it I think there’s something in the soul that knows it. Growing up there was a small park near where I lived, I always knew of it, walked past it, but never once had any desire to go near it. I don’t know if I avoided it, but I never wanted to go into it. I found out a few years back that a girl died there. I won’t go into detail but it was the kind of death that leaves that mark, and when I did eventually end up in that park the weight in the air was palpable.

I wonder if Jon could feel that sense of something when he came back to the institute after his coma. Does otherworldly sight stretch into the realms of the metaphysical? Could he see the residual fear of an entity so different to his own lingering in dark corners and clinging to his coworkers? Or could he simply sense it, that slight wrongness that would be so easy to attribute to being away for so long.

Jon didn’t get a warm welcome, and perhaps he returned to a place that didn’t even feel like the prison it’d been before. There’s a comfort in the horrors we face daily, and even positive changes can make it feel even worse than it did before. The behaviour of his friends changed so much, and somehow so did the behaviour of his workplace.

It begs the question, is it better to know or to be oblivious? To be blind or to seek knowledge relentlessly? That feeling, that slight instinct that something happened here, there’s something to know; how could one bear that after six months of knowing nothing real at all? Jon didn’t know about the attack, and him knowing didn’t help, but did he feel it? Was it there in that sea of knowledge the whole time but he couldn’t bring himself to reach out and grasp it?

Because the thing with blood is that it lingers, and once you smell it, it never really goes away.