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First story, because my writing is poor.


In the icy plateaus of the far north, Lissandra glided swiftly along on her imposing mount of ice. She scanned the area, searching for the distinct golden glow of a particularly rare medicinal herb which could cure even the most severe cases of frostbite. Though undoubtedly important, the task was basic, dull, and would usually be handed off to some nameless henchman - if not for the fact that some of the most dangerous predators known to man happened to roam this expanse frequently. It was while mulling over this very thought that Lissandra spotted movement out of the corner of her eye.

Instinctively, Lissandra raised her arms, ready to unleash a spell that would raise the ice before her miles into the sky, preventing whatever attack the still unknown figure had in mind. Before initiating such a bold move, however, she caught a full glimpse of what it was that first startled her. At first, it appeared to be a fiery yet dull humanoid figure. Upon closer inspection, Lissandra realized that it was merely Zyra, another champion in the League of Legends. Zyra's vibrant and very out-of-place appearance had caught Lissandra off guard in this landscape that was permanently awash in grey and white alone. But it wasn't only the complexion of her skin that was out of place; it was Zyra herself.

"You shouldn't stray so far from home, my dear," Lissandra started. "It gets chilly up here, and not all plants fare so well in the cold." She glanced down, gesturing vaguely to a group of dying brush to her left.

Zyra approached briskly, arms wrapped around herself as one does when they're freezing. "Lissandra, I need your help." The desperation in her voice was evident, but Lissandra grew wary. Illusions and mirages were dirty tricks that her enemies were not above using. Just before Lissandra could warn Zyra to back off, she halted her approach. "There are..." her voice wavered, "The void creatures have been after me. I need to... I mean, they're trying to get m-"

Lissandra took a step back, preparing the spell she had in mind earlier. Zyra was never this 'to the point' in the few conversations they'd had. While Zyra fumbled on her words, Lissandra interrupted, "State your business quickly. I have my own dealings here, you know."

Zyra, shivering from the now-beginning snowfall, cleared her throat and made herself more audible. "I need you to... help protect me - in ice, if you would just..." She glanced down, shaking her head. "I have to be hidden. Does your magic work such that I'll be safely..."

Lissandra scoffed at the woman's incompetency to produce her demands vocally. She thought it obvious that this was some ridiculous prank now. "No. I cannot aid you in your... escape from society, or whichever deluded plans you've conjured," she spat harshly. After a short thought, and seeing the shocked reaction on Zyra's face, she continued, "The cold would do a fine job in taking your life, might I add. A better one than it is doing now. I suggest you start the walk back from whence you came."

Though apparently initially taken aback, Zyra's expression switched now to anger. "I suggest you do the same," she growled, her voice thick with malice. Lissandra was now the one taken aback, noting these previously unseen new sides to Zyra. "Though I don't suppose you will ever be walking again, will you?"

Lissandra stared at the woman opposite her, trying to hide her shock. That was something that had only been known by herself, her closest aides, and the head of the League of Legends. "That" being the reason Lissandra had to use her mount, a dais of ice. The reason she donned such a thick yet impractical set of armor. Lissandra had lost her legs all the way up to her hips in a battle five years prior. She used the mount and her armor to hide this thing she had been so ashamed of. The thought of her people knowing and judging her new physical capabilities constantly plagued Lissandra's mind. And if someone as inconspicuous and uninvolved as Zyra knew, who else knew?

Buried in these thoughts, Lissandra only caught the end of what Zyra had been saying, which turned out to be, "Okay. Go ahead now."

Before Lissandra had the opportunity to ask what she had just said, there was all of the sudden the strangely loud sound of cloth flapping in the wind, and then a burning flash of pain in her left shoulder. Jumping back, Lissandra tried raising her arms, beginning to cast the spell that would encase her in ice and consequently protect her from harm. But she could not.

Looking directly in front of her, Lissandra could see only her right arm poised for the spell. The sudden confusion caused her to spin around in panic, looking for what had just happened to her left arm. What was going on? But even before she could figure out what happened then, the same flash of pain took hold of her right shoulder, and the next thing she knew she was staring into the face of some madly smiling woman.

A pair of hands shoved roughly at Lissandra's chest, and a peculiar yet familiar clicking noise let her knew that she was being removed from her mount of ice. It was weirdly the one thought Lissandra had time to process during this attack that had taken place in less than a couple of seconds.

Her back hit the ground with a thud, and her neck craned from the resulting whiplash. Though she tried to prop herself up on her arms, she realized she yet again could not, and it had been as she feared.

Glancing to the left, Lissandra saw the distinct horned shoulders of her body armor, holding the arms that had fallen from her body. The image before her began to grow hazy, and she had enough sense still to realize she was bleeding profusely from her fresh wounds. Spending the last of her energy, she cast a spell to close her wounds, and almost felt herself fall into unconsciousness because of it. It was the sight of that same smiling woman that stole Lissandra awake. A second's-long glimpse, and she now knew who it was - Katarina.

And without the chance to ask what was going on, or to demand an explanation, Lissandra was brutally yanked by the hair and dragged along by her attacker. She needed no explanation to know that she made an ineffably massive mistake in not letting herself bleed to death there on the ice.


After having not written properly for some time, I had some difficulties. I wasn't sure whether I should just jump into the juicy goodness or have some ridiculous exposition full of prose, and or whatever. I suppose I ended up choosing the latter. It's also been strange in that I've never written a story of this nature ;)
ehh. Feel free to continue the story, although I have had a set plotline in mind. Feedback would be appreciated.


Because I'm in a situation where I cannot save my work to edit later, I have to write each part in one shot whenever I have a couple free hours in my day. As a result, the writing quality is gonna be ass again.


What seemed like hours had passed with Katarina unceremoniously dragging Lissandra's now-limbless body along the rough ground. Lissandra had never experienced such humiliation, and she barely knew how to respond; having her hair used as a handle for someone to carry her along with like a bag of luggage! It was utterly dehumanizing. The helpless ice witch had quickly learned how futile her attempts at resistance were. At first, she'd tried wriggling and squirming away as best her useless torso would allow. Only after Katarina interrupted her efforts did Lissandra stop.

"And what're you gonna do if you somehow escape my grasp? Run away on the legs you don't have?"

The heavily sarcastic tone caused Lissandra to burn inwardly, hating being mocked for anything. She refused to respond such a malicious comment. Though it brought to light the fact that as the queen of her people, she had to maintain whatever scrap of dignity she still had left. Pathetically trying to worm away was about the least dignifying thing she could do. But to be fair, it was perhaps among the only things she could do. The extreme disability she'd been cursed with allowed her next to no mobility or independence at all. And with a life sentence like this, there would be no point in any of her sad attempts at movement, let alone escape. So it was then that Lissandra resolved that whatever anyone did to her, she would show no signs of resistance whatsoever; she hadn't a clue where she was being taken, or what cruel fate it was that had been planned for her, but whatever it was, she would accept it. There was no reason not to. Trying to fight back, trying to crawl away on her torso - it'd only serve to feed the sadistic hungers of whoever took ownership of her body.

Of course, it wasn't known to her yet whether she would be simply executed or suffer a lifetime of unimaginable torture and cruelty. But she had a fairly educated guess that it would be the latter.

So Lissandra let her attacker pull her along without complaint. It became more difficult than she anticipated; hearing each distinct footstep left by Katarina's heavy boots served as a constant reminder of the footsteps Lissandra would never leave again. And the only sound Lissandra left as she was dragged through the snow was akin to a cacophony of shuffling feet - though she no longer had any feet to shuffle, and the sound was merely her almost-nonexistent leg stumps being shuffled along for her.

Thoughts like these were dangerous, Lissandra would later come to learn. But as for now, she badly needed a distraction from her own mind, and a conversation seemed an ideal one. The question was, what should she say? 'Why are you doing this?' seemed redundant, and the time for that question had long passed; she would find out soon enough what would happen. And it's not as if knowing would change her course of action. 'Where are you taking me?' sounded too much like it was coming from a lost, helpless child - though that's more or less how Lissandra was feeling at the time.

Instead, Lissandra settled on a variation of that. "Where are we headed?" she inquired, immediately hearing the hollow, almost frightened tone in her voice, and hating herself for it.

Katarina didn't appear too keen on answering. She remained silent long enough for Lissandra to assume she wouldn't respond at all. But it was just then when Katarina's voice came loud and clear.

"God damn." Lissandra's heart skipped a beat. Her question had seemed innocent enough, but elicited such an angry response. She almost felt it necessary to apologize for it now. But Katarina continued, "For being just an ass, tits, and head, you sure are heavy." She yanked Lissandra's small body up in the arm she was dragging her by, and then let go. Though Lissandra had face planted into the ground as a result, she breathed a short sigh of relief; Katarina wasn't genuinely upset, it was just that her demeanour was usually this playfully harsh. That's what Lissandra had to tell herself to prevent being so pathetically terrified.

Suddenly there was a jolt, and Lissandra was being dragged along again. Katarina had switched arms, she guessed, but it meant worse things for the ice witch. Katarina had gripped a higher part of her ponytail to pull her by, meaning the whole front of Lissandra's body (or what remained of it) including her face was dragging along in the snow, as opposed to just the area where her legs had once been. Dirt and debris piled up in her face, and she had to spit out what she thought might have been a live grub. She couldn't go on like this - she had to speak up.

"mnfh...agh..." Lissandra started, trying to avoid getting a mouth full of snow. She tried lifting her head, but between the awkward grip on her hair and her limbless stature, it was beyond difficult. Finally, she managed to say, "Katarfhhnaa... pleafjh... you're jvhggn mwe in the..."

Katarina let go her grip once more, spun around on her heel, and began storming over to Lissandra's right side. The rage was now clear in her movements, and Lissandra cowered in pure terror. "I'm sorry!" she cried, horrified and bewildered at hearing herself sound so vulnerable. Her face was still down in the snow, but it was just as well, as she was too frightened to test seeing the expression on Katarina's face. "I- I was just being... ridiculous, and I didn- I didn't like having all the snow in my face, but... it's okay. You can keep pulling me along like that, I can manage."

Lissandra hoped her sad, pitiful plea worked some sympathy into Katarina's heart. She saw her feet moving from side to side out of the corner of her eye. "I can keep pulling you along?" Katarina mocked. "Who asked for your permission?" Lissandra flinched at Katarina's words, as if she'd been struck. Then suddenly, the limbless woman felt hands moving in under her waist, and she contorted her torso in protest of the unexpected contact. It was instantly depressing, the fact that anyone could simply do anything to the once all-powerful ice witch, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. But after remembering what she told herself about preserving her dignity, she froze in place. She let Katarina lift her armless, legless body up in her arms until they were eye to eye. Holding Lissandra up by the waist, they stared at each other for a moment, a confident smirk planted on Katarina's face. Lissandra looked away, bashful for reasons she didn't understand, and even more bashful for not knowing why. Then Katarina spun her around so she had her left arm under Lissandra's neck and her right under her firm, round, ass. And she carried her along like that for the remainder of the journey. Lissandra tried to ignore the feeling of herself blushing, unfamiliar with being carried about in such an affectionate manner.

The remainder of the journey (which Lissandra was still unaware of) was not that long at all, in fact. But when Lissandra recognized where they were headed, she was immediately filled with dread. It was the base of operations for both Ashe and Sejuani, who had only recently teamed up against Lissandra, in the battle for Frelijord.

They approached the entrance of the stronghold, from which the tinkering of metals and loud, boisterous conversation could be heard. Lissandra screwed her eyes shut for the events that followed. She did not want to look into the eyes of her enemies who would undoubtedly be fixated on her new, diminished form. Nor did she want to hear thm but that couldn't be helped. And even without having to see, Lissandra knew they were now inside. She tried her best to ignore the mocking shouts, the laughter at her expense, and the shocked gasps. She wished she still had arms with which she could cover her ears.

It was only when the noise and heat subsided that Lissandra dared to open her eyes. When she did, she was staring at one of her two greatest rivals - Ashe.

"Well, look what the cat drug in."


Sometimes my writing is so bad I'll avoid ever reading it again, which probably isn't productive. I hope you guys enjoy it though :)


While I don't know the characters or their backstories, I still think it's an intriguing story so far. Judging from the second part, maybe Lissandra won't be treated as badly?

You shouldn't sell yourself short when it comes to writing. Despite a few grammatical errors, it's pretty well written and I like your inclusion of exposition to 'set the stage', so to speak (I myself have trouble doing the same instead of, like you said, 'jumping into the juicy goodness'). My only gripe, after looking up who Lissandra is in LoL, is that her personality in your story doesn't match her intended lore. But I can chalk that up to artistic license.


Oh wow Croatoan, I love your work on DeviantArt - didn't expect to see you here. Okay.

A major reoccurring issue for me is keeping characters in character. Or more accurately, just deciding what the hell I want my characters to be in the first place. I'll try to work on that in coming segments.


Katarina had, without warning, carelessly let Lissandra drop to the ground. With no limbs to break her fall with, Lissandra's rump took the full impact, hitting the cold, stony ground first and therefore hardest. She felt the bruise forming there as the rest of her body followed suit to slump over on the floor. Being so accustomed to moving freely all her life, Lissandra had to make a conscious effort to not start wriggling away like some unearthed inchworm. She wouldn't give her onlookers reason to make light of her limbless dilemma.

Ashe bent over, hands on her hips as she stared straight down at the pitiful sight beneath her. With the pointed toe of her boot, she poked once at Lissandra's side. Lissandra loathed this feeling of being looked over, poked and prodded at as if she were nothing more than a piece of meat. Especially because, well, that's really about all she was now. Ashe cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, and grinned challengingly at her former strongest rival.

"Hello again, Lissandra. You seem to have lost some weight since the last time we met."

The whole situation was so insulting and condescending that Lissandra was left lying there, speechless and flush with embarrassment. She considered herself quite a thick skinned individual, able to brush off even the hardest-hitting verbal abuse. But now, she was there solely as the butt of the jokes. She was the punching bag. And as the punching bag, there would be no punching back, because she'd just get hit back harder and a hundred times more. So Lissandra had to swallow her pride and take the hit.

But when Lissandra saw the smug look on Ashe's face, saw how she searched her own for any reaction, she knew she had to try throwing at least one punch.

"And you seem to have gained some, my plump queen."

The combination of Katarina's unrestrained guffaws and the shocked disbelief so clearly painted on Ashe's face distracted Lissandra from the danger she'd put herself in. The satisfaction earned from such a fine comeback was, she thought, more than worth whatever punishment she would receive. After all, she had nothing more to lose. She wondered now what she'd been so terrified of that made her cower so pathetically from Katarina on the journey here.

She was then reminded.

Ashe delivered a swift, powerful kick to Lissandra's ribcage, driving her right into the unforgiving hard stone of the wall. Sickening cracks of bone could be heard both on contact of Ashe's boot with Lissandra's side, and her other side with the wall. The sound echoed prominently in Lissandra's ears, so she only faintly heard her own low moans of pain. The sharp aches she felt all over almost had her begging for mercy, but after the strong front she'd just put on, she couldn't back down now. Lissandra thought again of Ashe's both shocked and insulted expression, and forced a smile.

Ashe bent down before the ice witch, grabbing her chin and twisting it towards her with a painful brutality. "Always so combative," Ashe whispered, drawing her words out slowly - a common technique of inspiring fear that Lissandra instantly recognized. She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, not wanting to push her luck and wind up on the receiving end of another deadly kick. Ashe continued, "How much would you drop, do you think, if you were to lose the weight of your tongue?"

Riding a high of bravery, Lissandra ignored the threat completely and fired back with a fresh retort, "A far greater deal than you, if you were unburdened by the weight of your mind."

Ashe smiled now. Though it wasn't as amusing a response as her original burst of anger, it had Lissandra inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. "But I don't suppose it was a great deal for which you've traded your body," Ashe taunted, running the back of her hand along the limbless woman's exposed shoulder stump.

"You may be right," Lissandra tilted her head upwards to face Ashe directly. "It is you who happens to have the most expertise in trading your body.

The young archer's smile faded quickly. Lissandra had always won these little wars of words, and that hadn't changed today. She had lost her limbs, not her wits. And it was comforting to know that no matter how severe her physical limitations has become, there were still ways of besting her opponents. The anger welling up inside Ashe was easily noticeable, despite her efforts to hide it. But Lissandra felt no fear; instead, she believed it was her turn to look down on her rival, having defeated her so brilliantly.

That belief was short lived. The fed-up Ashe yanked Lissandra's unresisting torso out from her position against the wall. The defenceless ice witch let out an agonized yelp in response, but to no avail. Like Katarina had done, she was grabbed by the ponytail and dragged down the hall. Her helpless body was then uncaringly tossed into what appeared to be an elevator of sorts.

The rough landing magnified the pain of her numerous fractures and bruises a hundred fold. Excruciating stings and aches had left Lissandra woozy and disconnected from reality. She barely noticed Ashe getting on the elevator with her as they rode down.

Lissandra knew it was time to stop playing tough. It was fun while it lasted, but it wouldn't get her anywhere in this new life of hers. "Ashe..." she croaked, "If you could be a dear, and... just take it easy on me, please..."

Ashe had turned her head to indicate she was listening, but gave no real response. It pissed off Lissandra just enough to give her the strength she needed to say, "Ah, well, that's fair... When your king takes his... anger out on you, I suppose you need an outlet as well."

Still nothing. Lissandra had to give her credit; she had amazing willpower.

The elevator arrived. Her torso was, again, dragged along against her will out of the lift. Neither woman said a word. They'd been taken down to some underground facility. The walls, floor, and ceiling all featured the same unfriendly stone. The thin hallway was dimly lit with a single array of lightbulbs, and door-less doorways lead into dark, empty rooms. Ashe turned in to the first room on their left, pulling her captive along with a brute efficiency.

Lissandra didn't admit it, but she was absolutely terrified. As they entered the room, they were enveloped in darkness. She felt the grip on her hair loosen, and once more did she smack face first into the ground, as if her already-beaten and battered body hadn't endured enough. Though she waited for a light to flicker on, none came. Instead, she felt herself lifted up into the air by the waist.

With her torso being carried around by some invisible force, it was the first time Lissandra expressed the discomfort of her helplessness. Being unable to see or do anything about the danger she was about to be subjected to was too much; she had to at least attempt to escape. She wriggled and squirmed with great intensity and vigor, but to no effect.

It was then that the ice witch felt the underside of her chin make contact with what was probably stone. Had she been placed on the ground? Without sight, it was hard to tell. Then, Ashe's arms -if it had actually been Ashe- seemed to leave her waist. For maybe the first couple of seconds, it was a relief. But quickly, Lissandra realized that she was suspended midair, save for the little piece of stone her chin had been placed on. She now wiggled the remainder of her lower body as much as she could, looking for some ground on which she could place herself.

All of a sudden, Lissandra heard Ashe's harsh whisper in her right ear, "Relax, Lissandra. You're not so far above the ground." Foolishly, Lissandra was comforted by her words for a moment, until she continued, "Just be careful of the knife that's been placed facing upwards right underneath you. All you have to do is hang on."

Lissandra couldnt stop herself from gasping in horror, in which she could have sworn elicited a light giggle from her captor. "I'll see you in the morning, sweetie." And all Lissandra could do was listen to Ashe's footsteps as she exited the room. With her chin being the only thing holding her up, she couldn't even turn her head to watch her go.

Immediately, Lissandra began to panic. She was to support her whole torso on only her chin for hours on end. Already she was straining to not slip off, having to make little shrugging movements with her sagging, limbless body. There was no way to reset or readjust herself without arms or legs. How could she do this without receiving a knife up the ass?

She wondered then, if she had just submitted fully to her new disability, would this still be happening? If she just sucked up and accepted all the abuse, would Ashe have instead taken pity on her limbless state, as opposed to subjecting her to this terrible torture?

It was a painful thing to ponder. Lissandra couldn't bear to think about it now. She had to focus on getting out of this ordeal unscathed, or at least alive. But there was nothing to help her but her own limbless body.


I kinda rushed the last bit. Hope this part wasn't too cheesy. Enjoy!


Thanks! I'm surprised there isn't anyone else commenting. Usually there are several people always looking for amputee stories.

While I'm not particularly fond of the violence portions, her predicament at the end of your latest part is quite inventive. Keep up the good work!


I'm enjoying it! I suppose you're right that you have some things to refine in your writing, but so does everyone else. It's very readable.

Also, it's about an amputee and it doesn't have any dicks in the story, so that's catering perfectly to my tastes! =P I'm looking forward to some LoL ladies grudge-fucking your helpless protagonist!


Thanks for the kind words everybody. I'm just gonna write this next section and see what happens.


There were two options. The first was to endure this punishment and hold on by her chin until Ashe came back to pull her off the ledge. But that was reliant on the assumption that Ashe would be kind enough to take her down. That Ashe would even return at all. Lissandra loathed being at the complete and total mercy of her most hated enemy. And to think that just yesterday she was the frost archer's equal, if not her superior. 'Repulsive' was the only word Lissandra could come up with to describe it all.

The other option was to find a way to escape this whole mess unscathed. Somehow. The task was overwhelming, to say the least. With no limbs, and even without the aid of her remaining torso, she was to rely solely on her head and chin to do... she didn't know what she was supposed to do.

But it was obvious that something had to be done. This wasn't some endurance test set up by Ashe to strengthen the grip of Lissandra's chin. She was being tortured. And it would be up to her limbless self alone to avoid getting knifed. That was the reality she had to face.

Lissandra recognized that the most likely way she could escape harm was to move herself to the left or right of the blade beneath her, far enough so that when she released herself from the ledge, she would land on the ground instead of the knife. How she was going to manage that was the question. She thought maybe she could shuffle herself to the side using her chin while her torso dangled along with it. But her remaining body put so much pressure on her chin that she was having trouble just staying on the ledge, let alone lifting it up enough to allow adjustments for movement. There was no way she could do this; she had no arms with which she could hold the ledge to alleviate some of the pressure. She had no legs with which she could reach the ground. Reduced to the bare minimum, the ice witch was incapacitated to the very limit.

Lissandra floundered about helplessly, as if the wild flailing of her torso would bring her the answers she needed. Though there wasn't really any other course of action, given her limited frame. And it was through this flopping around madly in the air that Lissandra discovered something vital - she felt her right hip make contact with what appeared to be the wall. It was in her mad fit of wiggling that she had thrust forward with her waist and touched it.

She stopped, and gave consideration to the whole situation. While the room was almost completely dark, Lissandra began to make sense of her surroundings. Ashe had placed her with her chin on a ledge that protruded maybe a couple of inches or so out from the wall. It was that same wall which Lissandra had felt with her hip.

How Lissandra could escape from this predicament was now clear. If she could push her pelvis up against the wall hard enough, it would give her a small window of opportunity to lift her chin up off the ledge and adjust it to the side. Though each movement would take immense energy and core strength for a very tiny amount of progress, it was the only method she had.

Just before Lissandra began to put her theory into action, she felt her chin slipping from the ledge. Immediately, the ice witch attempted to crawl back up, making slight jumping movements with her dangling torso. The pressure on her chin and neck increased, and it felt like her chin was being dragged or even scraped hard on the ledge. When she finally readjusted to her original position, she was gasping for breath. The fact that such small movements could be so tiring was degrading. She tried to halt her heavy breathing and put on a more composed expression, readjusting her shoulders. As if she had an audience to impress. Of course, she did not, but because she had had one for most of her life, it was almost an instinctive thing. Realizing this, Lissandra took one final deep breath and got to work.

Lissandra had to swing her lower body back and forth to gain enough momentum to ram herself into the wall. Each swing backwards threatened to pull Lissandra off the ledge completely, so she had to find the balance where her torso would gain sufficient speed without making too much of a jerking movement. When she felt she had enough momentum, she tried to force her hips into the wall.

She had not anticipated how weak her final push would be. It felt as though her pelvis had only lightly tapped the wall, and it was only the outermost part of her hip bones that made contact. Lissandra expected her entire body (which wasn't much) beneath her navel to be grinding into the wall, but she just didn't have enough strength. She pulled herself back into her natural dangling position, and began again.

Back and forth, back and forth, like riding a swing set. When Lissandra pushed into the wall this time, there was definitely more strength in it. Fueled by the adrenaline rush, Lissandra craned her neck back, lifting her chin off the ledge for a split second before gravity pulled it back down into the same position.

The work was incredibly taxing. Lissandra was again fighting for breath, though she had not broken a sweat. In fact, Lissandra had an inability to sweat. As former queen of the Frelijord, the elders thought it wise to have her seen in a dignified manner, always. Thus, ancient magic rituals were performed to remove Lissandra's ability and requirement to sweat, urinate, and defecate. Nor did she need to eat, drink, or sleep. This was all very long ago, and the time where Lissandra and her colleagues had questioned her status as a living organism of flesh-and-blood had long past. The ice witch realized now that her modifications made her the perfect torture victim. Minimal cleanup and care-taking required.

She shook her head, not wanting to get lost in the daunting proposal of what was to come. What Lissandra had to focus on now was moving herself a few inches to the right; easier said than done for her.

With a strangely renewed energy, Lissandra bypassed the process of gaining momentum and instead tried throwing her lower body into the wall with as much force as she could muster. Surprisingly, it worked! The areas where her legs had once been mashed firmly against the wall, and this time Lissandra was of calm enough mind to lift her chin at the same time she pushed off the wall. With the force provided by the push, she adjusted her head to the right, her chin landing hard on the stony ledge.

Lissandra had done it. The stone underneath her chin now was cold from the lack of friction. She didn't know how much progress she had made, but it felt like a lot. The limbless woman felt ridiculous for feeling so proud at accomplishing what would be a terribly minor thing for a fully able person. But now she had a way of getting through this. All she had to do was repeat the same process another couple dozen times, or so. It was exhausting and time-consuming, but it was the only choice she had.

So Lissandra did it again. And again, and again, and again. Once or twice, she nearly slipped off the ledge and it took a good 5 minutes each time to readjust to a safe position. And while she was utterly drained of energy, the whole of her torso worn out, she continued. The process was strangely gratifying. She didn't want to call it fun, but that's what it was shaping up to be. Or maybe she was just losing her mind from the whole turn of events in the last couple of hours.

It felt like hours had passed. Five cycles ago had Lissandra thought she was safely out of the range of the knife, but she did not want to take chances. Now, however, she was absolutely sure of it. Finally, Lissandra let her shoulders sag, released the tension in her core. Almost immediately did she slide off, her body hitting the floor a second after. She thought she must have been only a foot off the ground while hanging up there. In a wonderful sort of relief, she lay there for a few moments, her head cocked to the side to see the knife she had just avoided.

Even in the dark, she could see it. That there was no knife there all along.


Short segment today because I was experimenting with this one. Also the reason that I haven't posted in a week.
One of my major kinks with amputees (quads especially) is when they have to be very creative while expending a ton of energy just to complete the most basic of tasks. Climbing stairs, opening doors, etc. There was no dialogue either, so I don't know how well this is going to go over. I'm actually pretty scared to go back and read it later because I'll probably find that it's awful. Thanks again.


Great story! I like the emphasis on her helplessness too

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