i am dust and shadow; any

[Joscelin]

joscelin

“Death.”

The word should have caused a shiver, made her fear. He wished her to quake for him, to cower and run. She does none of these things. She and death had become such intimate friends. The consuming blackness no longer has the power to make her afraid. She knows where that blackness leads. Knows the painless bliss of oblivion. She could not fear it.

But it had been denied her. Her shattered body had been pieced back together. Her soul ripped from peaceful, floating blackness to the searing, hellish pain that is life. She had screamed in agony, her lips frozen shut, unable to make a sound. Magic had brought her back, and it was not a kind magic. How can she fear him after that? He might visit pain upon her, but they have become old friends. Pain is life.

But then, perhaps he is the one who should fear. She is unstable. Her entire being had been ripped apart and pieced back together by a hasty, careless magician. He had not been perfect in the melding of her body and spirit. Even now the light sparks madly beneath her cracked and broken skin. It wants out. It is waiting, ever the impatient beast. It waits for her unstable emotions. It waits for her to writhe and scream. It waits for her to explode. Her broken body can no longer contain it as easily as it once had. It wants out.

He steps close and she feels his fetid breath. The smell should have made her gag. It does cause her to jerk her head back, golden eyes sparking. She steps back, her skin nearly glowing with frantic light. She is anger and pain, and he is not cooperating.

Are you dead?

Perhaps he is. She had died, and now she is light. Perhaps he had died, and now he is fire.

there's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye

html c insane | pictures c nazo-the-unsolvable.deviantart.com and akharlamov.deviantart.com