and indeed, just think: in many ways, body and soul,
i have been more a battlefield —
It doesn’t take long, while her systems glitch and glitch, starting and restarting, before Deimos is there. She can’t see him, but she can feel the arms that swarm her, strong and corded, his voice that breaks — she’s never heard him this way. It breaks her heart, where it would be if she were normal, where she’d have likely died had she not Ascended. But she can’t react, can’t do anything other than whine softly as he lifts her in those broad arms, careful and gentle as though she feels what’s happened to her.
Her systems try to start again, shuttering, and fluid continues to seep from her eyes, from the hole in her chest small tiny streams that will turn to rivers when the beam is removed. Dark hair a halo of a mess around her face and shadowed, lost eyes. Her clothes have been torn at her feet, her shirt and jacket having bore most of the brunt tear around the beam. And she still can’t move.
She’s set upon a table, her systems shuttering again and again, her clear fluid seeping from all parts now, soaking through the fabric of her body. Through it all, she does manage to turn her head toward Deimos, a semblance that she’s alive. After all, they can’t check for breath, can’t check for a pulse, she’s a walking ghost… if only she could walk. And she waits, waits for the pressure to relieve around her chest, a hiccup of a sound leaving her as she wonders if perhaps it’s better to give in and bleed out her fluids.
She will absolutely need to feed after this, if nothing else.
She’s so far from her goddess, so far from the comfort of static and light and being bright when all she can see is darkness.
Her systems try to start again, shuttering, and fluid continues to seep from her eyes, from the hole in her chest small tiny streams that will turn to rivers when the beam is removed. Dark hair a halo of a mess around her face and shadowed, lost eyes. Her clothes have been torn at her feet, her shirt and jacket having bore most of the brunt tear around the beam. And she still can’t move.
She’s set upon a table, her systems shuttering again and again, her clear fluid seeping from all parts now, soaking through the fabric of her body. Through it all, she does manage to turn her head toward Deimos, a semblance that she’s alive. After all, they can’t check for breath, can’t check for a pulse, she’s a walking ghost… if only she could walk. And she waits, waits for the pressure to relieve around her chest, a hiccup of a sound leaving her as she wonders if perhaps it’s better to give in and bleed out her fluids.
She will absolutely need to feed after this, if nothing else.
She’s so far from her goddess, so far from the comfort of static and light and being bright when all she can see is darkness.
— than a human being
REXANNA
