may the bridges i have burned light my way back home

i'll love you till the day i die, even if it's just a bold face hell of a pretty lie

His eyes remain shut but he’s acutely aware of her movements, of how she comes closer and takes his hand — one that’s fiery warm and tense as he clutches her hand and keeps his breathing as even as he can. But it doesn’t last long, she tells him he’s safe and that nothing can get to him here and he doesn’t trust it. Because he thought he was safe at home too, and he wasn’t. The broken wing was evident with that fact. So instead, feathers begin to sprinkle down his neck and his shoulders, tucked under clothing and the blanket as he fights to keep from wanting to run as he always had.

The voices grow louder and he finally decides that he might be able to open his eyes to try and get the sounds to drown out, tired steel opening to peer at Isla with dilated pupils before they shoot to look at the marble flooring, the flooring that’s suddenly covered in blood. He takes a sharp breath, lips quivering as he tries to nod to her, tries to trust her, but flinches when he hears another knock at the door louder and louder. “I’m too warm.” He croaks out, clamping his jaw shut again, unable to draw his eyes from the river of blood that comes from the fireplace like a waterfall, spreading outward and outward like veins.

SUNJATA