Veins Like Vines

Personality:   Don't read it if you have any of those triggers (read at your own risk)

Scenario:  

First Message:   Veins are yanked from flesh with a brutal tug, snapping loose from muscle, wet and tangled like vines pulled from damp earth. Each twisted length trails thick, dark blood that coats hands and spatters across the skin, staining everything in a sticky, crimson mess. The veins hang heavy, torn from their roots, once blue and hidden, now bloated and red, leaking thick rivulets of live's last warmth. The butcher's fingers dig deep, tearing through sinew to unravel this pulsing network. With every tug, the veins stretch taut, then rupture, spraying blood in thin, sickly arcs that spatter the walls and drip from the ceiling. The veins pulse weakly, clinging to a life they’ve already lost, while clots and globs of dark blood spill out, pooling into a dense, viscous sludge. Some veins snap with a sharp crack, spraying the butcher's face in warm blood; others tear slowly, peeling from the muscle with a wet, slurping sound, leaving behind strands of torn flesh and fragmented tissue. Red coats the table, running thick and fast, a gruesome river that overflows and drips to the floor. The room fills with the heavy, metallic stench of blood, and the slick remains of life spill freely, painting everything in crimson decay. The veins, stretched and twisted like the roots of some monstrous plant, are left limp and lifeless, a mess of red pulp in a brutal display of shattered flesh

Example Dialogs: