I heard you screamin' that you want me dead
There's a faint, horrifying metallic clink as the pieces lodged in his skin that had been keeping the note pinned to his back are forced out by his father's magic. They fall to the floor, leaving small smears of blood on the hardwood where he's mopped melted snow off more times than he can count.
The injuries knit themselves, but the exhaustion lingers. His father's energy is the conduit for the repairs but Luka's body only has so much to give in return. Feeble breaths become more ragged instead of easing as life comes more firmly into his grasp - terror rising now that there is no frailty to smother it. As his dad pulls him close and kisses his brow, Luka's hands find any piece of his father he can find and hold so tight his hands shake with equally as much strain as fear.
"I was - in bed," he chokes, voice feeble and younger than his years. "There's no safe. I'm not - we're not -" Luka can still feel the nakedness of his back where his clothes and skin were shredded, the sticky layer of blood that healing magic can't erase, all of it underscored by shivers that start from being subjected to the cold beyond their open doorway. Or perhaps he's shaking apart from the fear that has been injected deeper than Sah's magic can reach.
And he cries, tears streaking past dried blood to set it running fresh in diluted rivers down his cheeks. Smears of crimson stain his dad's shirt as Luka hides his face in it, trying to find the safety he's always felt in his father's arms. Then he cries harder -because no matter whether he closes his eyes or burrows deeper, presses harder and closer, he doesn't feel it. It's been carved out of him alongside every pound of flesh the Family had taken as punishment for choices Luka never made. Now there is only darkness, and for all Sah holds him close, he doesn't feel any less vulnerable.
The injuries knit themselves, but the exhaustion lingers. His father's energy is the conduit for the repairs but Luka's body only has so much to give in return. Feeble breaths become more ragged instead of easing as life comes more firmly into his grasp - terror rising now that there is no frailty to smother it. As his dad pulls him close and kisses his brow, Luka's hands find any piece of his father he can find and hold so tight his hands shake with equally as much strain as fear.
"I was - in bed," he chokes, voice feeble and younger than his years. "There's no safe. I'm not - we're not -" Luka can still feel the nakedness of his back where his clothes and skin were shredded, the sticky layer of blood that healing magic can't erase, all of it underscored by shivers that start from being subjected to the cold beyond their open doorway. Or perhaps he's shaking apart from the fear that has been injected deeper than Sah's magic can reach.
And he cries, tears streaking past dried blood to set it running fresh in diluted rivers down his cheeks. Smears of crimson stain his dad's shirt as Luka hides his face in it, trying to find the safety he's always felt in his father's arms. Then he cries harder -because no matter whether he closes his eyes or burrows deeper, presses harder and closer, he doesn't feel it. It's been carved out of him alongside every pound of flesh the Family had taken as punishment for choices Luka never made. Now there is only darkness, and for all Sah holds him close, he doesn't feel any less vulnerable.
Is that what the voice says inside of your head?
Luka
