I'm rotting inside
My flesh turns to dust
It waited, idle.
A deep breath in, a shuddering breath out.
It can taste her on the air, a familiarity despite the years – decades? – that have passed. There is no feasible way that it can forget her, forget the warmth of her skin or the scent that clutched the edges of his nostrils each morning. They spent years together, forging an empire, creating children that would be their legacy. It could never forget her, not even when Hell finally spits her back out.
They flock to her like brainless chickens, gaping at her and grasping at what they can. She is so new to them and yet ancient, a name that has since been forgotten on their tongues. Even her son, the maggot that he is, rises from the shadows to kiss the feet of his beloved mother. From afar, it scoffs at them all. They do not know her like it does; they have not slept in her bed, pressed to her curves. They know nothing of the arrogance and ambition that circulates through her.
But they will.
Much like a lion stalking its prey, Infection waits. It stands at the edge of the shadows, kneading the soil with its talons until she strays near enough.
One step, then two. It has been alive, but dormant, and so its movement is jagged, almost robotic until it abruptly stops. ”Starlace,” her name peels off its tongue just as sickeningly as when they ruled together, but there is a subtle hint of tenderness underlying the scraping of its voice. ”I knew you were unable to stay away forever,” a jackal smile stretches across its cracked lips, its green eyes glimmering mischievously in the dappled, winter sunlight. It comes to her in one piece, its body entirely whole and pristine after a recent play of death and rebirth. Its skin is not marred, it is not sloughing off or rotten.
For Starlace’s homecoming, it returns to her entirely whole, except for the crude, decaying heart suspended in an otherwise empty chest.
infection
@[Starlace]