death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch
The primeval tendencies, to recoil, to contort, to close in on himself, were tempting, enticing; to merely return to where the Reaper resided – cold and aloof, indifferent to anyone because it was so much safer. No pain. No suffering. No attempts at beloved things. Nothing to do but fight and triumph and bleed and perish.
Sunjata didn’t take the hint, and he walled himself up, fingers closing, palms tightening into fists on the other side of the door, struggling to breathe through the perils, the fathoms, the twisting, tightening nooses closing in. Gnarled ropes and twisted thorns, stabbing him into the ribs, into the gut, into his heart a thousand times over. The apology made him want to shatter and bleed out, to be left in his anguish, to decay in his despair. To wither away with the rest of the season. Maybe he’d be the next one in their makeshift family to die for no god damned reason.
“Do not-“ do not say her name he wanted to utter, to echo, because the Flood didn’t deserve to. Didn’t have a clue who she was. Wouldn’t have known the emboldened embers and the audacious cinders. But he ceased and choked it down, suffocating himself over and over and over again so he didn’t break in front of the world. The only thing he could do was echo the reverberations back through the threshold, pierce the rumble through the wooden exterior. “What do you want?”
Sunjata didn’t take the hint, and he walled himself up, fingers closing, palms tightening into fists on the other side of the door, struggling to breathe through the perils, the fathoms, the twisting, tightening nooses closing in. Gnarled ropes and twisted thorns, stabbing him into the ribs, into the gut, into his heart a thousand times over. The apology made him want to shatter and bleed out, to be left in his anguish, to decay in his despair. To wither away with the rest of the season. Maybe he’d be the next one in their makeshift family to die for no god damned reason.
“Do not-“ do not say her name he wanted to utter, to echo, because the Flood didn’t deserve to. Didn’t have a clue who she was. Wouldn’t have known the emboldened embers and the audacious cinders. But he ceased and choked it down, suffocating himself over and over and over again so he didn’t break in front of the world. The only thing he could do was echo the reverberations back through the threshold, pierce the rumble through the wooden exterior. “What do you want?”
DEIMOS
