04-20-2020, 12:48 AM
If Thorn could turn back time, he absolutely would. There is no romanticized it made me who I am mania. If there was a way to drag himself from the mouth of that cave, he would say or do or sacrifice anything. He only had so much to offer, with the way his chest tells his tale, but maybe his slim pickings will earn his loved ones a new story.
Thorn.
Her voice is throttled by all the hands that tore Thorn’s chest open.
They come back to him to dig deeper into his wound, flat palms pressing into the bleeding flesh, hungry to see more pain crease his face. Satisfied with the work they’ve done on another.
Will you die?
Prayer’s question is one Thorn doesn’t think he can answer. The leviathan had said no, he will not die from this curse; but every passing day increases the chances that he’ll die by his own hand. Sometimes, when the wound stings and swells with infection, Thorn thinks he’ll let it go just long enough for him to be too weak to heal it. He’ll have taken himself just far enough into the woods to be too far away to find another healer, and he’ll die (alone).
Thorn looks down at Prayer, holding his breath because the distance between is so small and so fragile that even a reckless exhale might shatter them. “Not from the wound, no,” he whispers, desperate to break Prayer’s gaze but wholly incapable of doing so.
“Not from the wound.”
Thorn.
Her voice is throttled by all the hands that tore Thorn’s chest open.
They come back to him to dig deeper into his wound, flat palms pressing into the bleeding flesh, hungry to see more pain crease his face. Satisfied with the work they’ve done on another.
Will you die?
Prayer’s question is one Thorn doesn’t think he can answer. The leviathan had said no, he will not die from this curse; but every passing day increases the chances that he’ll die by his own hand. Sometimes, when the wound stings and swells with infection, Thorn thinks he’ll let it go just long enough for him to be too weak to heal it. He’ll have taken himself just far enough into the woods to be too far away to find another healer, and he’ll die (alone).
Thorn looks down at Prayer, holding his breath because the distance between is so small and so fragile that even a reckless exhale might shatter them. “Not from the wound, no,” he whispers, desperate to break Prayer’s gaze but wholly incapable of doing so.
“Not from the wound.”
thorn
under your skin, over the moon
don't let me in, I don't know what I'd do
roses are fallin', roses from fallin' for you, ooh