jamie
11-01-2025, 10:43 AM
jamie
Jamie.
The child stirs, thinks perhaps it is his mother calling for him. Or maybe Livinia. The child blinks open his strange yellow eyes and cringes away from the light. He moans, as he had always moaned. He turns his freakish head, though he can feel the way the light touches his skin. Or what might have been skin, had he been born a real thing and not something more like an idea.
He draws in a long, rattling breath. He is trapped here, the child, too weak to summon a shadow portal to spirit him away to someplace dark and safe.
Jamie.
She does not say it again, it simply echoes. Echoes like a dawning. A realization. The light is familiar. How many times has the child cringed away from it? How many times has he tucked himself behind his sister to spare himself the pain of it?
Beyza, he realizes. Beyza. But this cannot be Beyza, he thinks. Unless, perhaps, his mother has taught her ways to manipulate time. Unless she is coming to him from some distant future where she is no longer a child as he is a child.
He turns that ugly head in her direction but cannot bring himself to open his eyes. “Beyza?” he asks and then drags in another sickly breath. He summons what strength he has to rise, eyes still closed tightly against her light. “Did my mother teach you this?”
The child stirs, thinks perhaps it is his mother calling for him. Or maybe Livinia. The child blinks open his strange yellow eyes and cringes away from the light. He moans, as he had always moaned. He turns his freakish head, though he can feel the way the light touches his skin. Or what might have been skin, had he been born a real thing and not something more like an idea.
He draws in a long, rattling breath. He is trapped here, the child, too weak to summon a shadow portal to spirit him away to someplace dark and safe.
Jamie.
She does not say it again, it simply echoes. Echoes like a dawning. A realization. The light is familiar. How many times has the child cringed away from it? How many times has he tucked himself behind his sister to spare himself the pain of it?
Beyza, he realizes. Beyza. But this cannot be Beyza, he thinks. Unless, perhaps, his mother has taught her ways to manipulate time. Unless she is coming to him from some distant future where she is no longer a child as he is a child.
He turns that ugly head in her direction but cannot bring himself to open his eyes. “Beyza?” he asks and then drags in another sickly breath. He summons what strength he has to rise, eyes still closed tightly against her light. “Did my mother teach you this?”
so darkness i became
