Jasper sat on the edge of his bed, the dim light from his bedside lamp casting a shadow across his face. He flicked his platinum blonde hair out of his eyes, his blue gaze fixed on the small silver blade in his hand. The room was silent except for the distant hum of traffic outside, the stillness amplifying the rapid beating of his heart.

He'd been thinking about this for weeks, the idea gnawing at the edges of his mind like a persistent itch. The thought of forking his own tongue thrilled and terrified him in equal measure, the perfect combination for someone who thrived on spontaneity and chaos. He traced a finger over the 666 tattoo on his neck, the bold black ink a reminder of his defiance and his penchant for pushing boundaries.

Jasper took a deep breath, steeling himself. He knew this would hurt, knew it would be a mess, but the allure of the act was too strong to ignore. He stood up, moving to his bathroom where he’d prepared everything he needed: antiseptic, gauze, and a handheld mirror. The reflection staring back at him was one of determination mixed with a flicker of doubt.

“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the edge of the sink. He opened his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue and examining it in the mirror. The blade felt cold and unforgiving in his hand as he brought it closer to his mouth. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage, before making the first cut.

The pain was immediate and sharp, a jolt that shot through his entire body. Blood filled his mouth, but he forced himself to keep going, slicing through the muscle with a grimace. He paused to rinse his mouth with antiseptic, the burn almost unbearable. Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them away, focusing on the task at hand.

With a final, shaky breath, Jasper completed the cut, the two halves of his tongue now separated. He leaned over the sink, spitting out blood and trying to steady his breathing. The pain was intense, but the adrenaline rushing through his veins made him feel alive.