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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    when you call my name it's like a little prayer; ember
    #1
    Either Nocturne was not very good at miming or the monster was not very good at giving a damn. Either way, he got swallowed down faster than he could wrap himself in ice and make himself inedible. Didn’t even manage to do any damage on the way down, ‘cause the beast was hot enough inside to melt the ice as fast as it formed. Well. He’d wanted to be back inside a warm belly. This wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind, but as far as being careful what he’d wished for, it was pretty appropriate.

    So this was death, then. Darkness swallowed him down, and flesh muffled the too-loud sounds of the world, and honestly it felt kind of nice. Warm and wet and dark, clinging tight and pressing in on him from all sides just like it used to. Even the odd stomach juices leeching into his skin and making it hard to move didn’t hurt exactly, just...itched. Made his muscles twitch in quiet protest and his body go stiff and numb. It was almost like becoming, but in reverse, his body slowly taken from him instead of coming alive a little more with every passing day. Except this time there was no crooning voice whispering wicked, lovely things in his muffled ears, murmuring promises and portents and telling him pretty little lies about the life to come.

    And maybe that was better.
    At least he wouldn’t be disappointed.

    Except it didn’t quite seem to end like he’d expected. If this was unbecoming, shouldn’t he...well...cease to be? Not that he was complaining exactly, either way was alright, he guessed. So he settled in to rest, perhaps the first real rest he’d gotten since he’d burst from his dead father’s belly. The dark and the growing inability to move gave him an awful lot of time to think about what he’d experienced so far, and how life felt a bit like bullshit anyhow.

    And then there was light again. Just like the first time, there was struggle and then light, and bursting forth from a dead body to gasp in the first breath of air he’d taken in who knew how long? Come to think of it--no, no point in wondering how he’d survived being unable to breathe, just like there’d been no point in wondering it the first time around. Trouble was though, this time he couldn’t move. So he stood exactly as he’d landed, his body turned to stone or some shit, covered in blood and guts and goop. Dammit. Again? He had just enough movement to furrow his brow into a scowl and huff out an annoyed breath through his nose, spraying a bit of monster-stomach-juices in the process.

    Well fuck.
    Now what?
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