I'm wasted, losing time; I'm a foolish, fragile spine
I want all that is not mine; I want him but we're not right
How does one describe the joy at catapulting through the heavens and crash-landing onto alien soil—only to find that when the dust had settled, poison had been sucked from your veins? The initial blast had been terrifying, the moment when her eyelashes had fluttered open and she had been whole and alive (the glass in her body not fractured but cracked, their fragility vulnerable). The descent down the craggy slopes had been even more so, each step sending shockwaves up her delicate legs, reminders of her mortality.
She was not sure how she managed to make her way down.
She was not sure how except that she as grateful for the small blessing.
But then—oh!—everything had changed. The further she walked, the stronger she felt. Her steps became more sure, her body warping as her gifts (her curse, her defects) bled from her. Her body took on a new form, her skin growing tough, the hair growing lush and full. Her bones became sturdy and thick—the sensation a queer one. Her coat deepened to a rich red, her wings morphing from broken and tattered to full, lush with feathers. The noise she had made in her throat had been triumphant, unbelieving, joyous.
Unlike her brother, Adaline had not wasted time in testing the limits of her new body. She had rocked back onto her heels and then rocketed forward, testing the speed. She had tripped, fallen to her knees, and then laughed until she had wept when the only consequence had been barely scraped flesh. She had risen and run again, ignoring the sting and the pain; she had stretched out the expanse of her wings and clumsily taken to the skies, breathing in the crisp air until her lungs ached and her eyes watered.
It was only when she saw him, heard her name, that she descended, folding the appendages by her side and racing toward him. They collided, solid flesh against solid flesh, and she choked on her own laughter, her eyes feasting on the beauty of him, the strength of him as her mouth traced the new lines, the new curves for her to learn.
“Contagion,” she whispered, quietly. “What a blessing we have been given.”
For a second, she wondered, briefly, if he would still find her appealing, would still love her with the glass stripped from her, but she pushed aside the insecurity.
He would love her. He would always love her.
in the darkness, I will meet my creators
and they will all agree that I'm a suffocator