I won't apologize for the Fire in my eyes. (Contagion)

[contagion]

His dreams now are of things he hopes are in the past.
He dreams of being glass, of breaking in a dozen different ways. He dreams of his death, of a wolf’s snarl, of a woman crying out.
But when he wakes, he wakes in a body that is strong, with wings that bear him aloft. He wakes whole, and alive, and for these things he is grateful. He walks without fear of breaking, now, and the dreams stay dreams, distant things he barely thinks of.
But oh, she brings them back, and when he looks at her he remembers how his heart had lifted – and he remembers how her face had changed, contorted, and how her teeth had bared, hungry.

Yet her blue eyes show no sign of recognition, she greets him politely, but with no familiarity, no emotion (he doesn’t know what emotion he’d expected, exactly – dismay? Horror? Did she regret what she’d done, or had it energized her?). Instead, there is only this mild politeness - I don’t bite she says and a wicked part of him wants to reply I beg to differ.
He is dumbfounded, quiet, and she continues on, asks if they’ve met before.
Like she doesn’t remember that day, that awful day.
“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse, “yes, we’ve met. You were my queen.”
Queen, and executioner.

contagion

be careful making wishes in the dark