she'll tear a hole in you; daemron

[pyxis]

as your love starts to surround you
all of their words are trying to drown you

So many things are different, and yet, in all of the ways, it is all the same. She is back in her body—the angles and shapes and muscles familiar—but it feels foreign. She wakes up in the middle of night and feels phantom pains where she had once had hands; she remembers the way that her throat had burned for the taste of blood. Her nights had always been restless, but they grow increasingly so, hours upon hours spent wandering along the borders, trying to unpack the confused, crazed remnants of her mind.

The worst of it are the not-memories of friends, and family, and him. The words they had screamed at her and the blood spilling from their bodies—blood she had spilled forth. When she does manage to sleep, she wakes in a cold sweat. When she does sleep, she is plagued by the not-memory of a kiss that did not made sense and yet made her blood sing—her body going hot and cold and slipping wordlessly into it.

Tonight is no different. She skirts alongside the meadow and thinks of the moment she had first seen him, thinks about the handsome angles of his face and the fierce beauty of Red—she thinks of them and misses them in the same breath that she tries to avoid them, not sure that she is ready to confront them. Would she be able to keep herself from telling him everything? Would she have to admit what that meant?

She wasn’t sure she could even admit that to herself yet.

Pyxis’ steps are slow, unnaturally so, but she does not stop until she sees the flash of red and a hint of glowing silver eyes. Her heart suspends between beats. It is him, and she is powerless to stop herself from moving toward him. It is him and everything is pulled to the surface, the pain of the quest and the agony of losing everything over and over again with no way to stop it. Words could not describe it.

Before she knows it, she is standing before him, stripped raw, vulnerable and trembling with the alien desire to be held. “Daemron,” and her tongue trips on the name, catching with tears in her throat. He looks exactly as she remembered. Her icy blue eyes move to where Red stands next to him, and she feels the fear ride through her veins as she remembers the not-memory of the wolf feasting on her fallen sister. She forces herself to ignore the terror, and she gives the wolf a smile, greeting her, as well, “Red.”

and you break, it's too late for you to fall apart
and the blame that you claim is all your own fault

© patrick sobczak

@[Daemron]

also, she has a horn / horns now but i don't know what they look like yet :||