Oh, how wrong we were to think That immortality meant never dying
The decision has been made. The words become a mantra, echoing in Nate’s head with every sullen beat of his feet. He has to stick to his word, has to make this choice. Regret, resentment will bloom of he stays, and if there is one thing he won’t do, it’s become his father.
Pemota drifts behind him, spiralling horn hovering over his shoulder, and her starry wake lighting everything he’s walking away from. Nate carries nothing with him, no bag on his back, or dangling off his shoulder. He doesn’t even have a full pack of smokes on him.
The pier, and the portal it cradles, rise up in front of him, a promise for some space, for a chance to think. Night, and the season, had the pier quieter than usual, but still people wandered here and there. Right in front of him. Covered in...
...blood?
Whatever daze Nate had been in snaps away as he focuses on the woman, as he hears the words the slip from her lips. Fluid seizes in his chest, panic and paranoia both rearing up. It hasn’t even been a season since Shaju, and while this girl looks... well, not harmless, she’s clearly not covered in her own blood, but like he could take her, if need be.
”Hey, miss?” Venturing a half step closer, Nate hovers, trying to be nonthreatening, trying to not provoke her. ”Wil je... hulp hê?” Pemota drifts closer than he dares, her calming light just within reach of the woman.
“Wil je... hulp hê?” - “Do you... want help?”
Pemota drifts behind him, spiralling horn hovering over his shoulder, and her starry wake lighting everything he’s walking away from. Nate carries nothing with him, no bag on his back, or dangling off his shoulder. He doesn’t even have a full pack of smokes on him.
The pier, and the portal it cradles, rise up in front of him, a promise for some space, for a chance to think. Night, and the season, had the pier quieter than usual, but still people wandered here and there. Right in front of him. Covered in...
...blood?
Whatever daze Nate had been in snaps away as he focuses on the woman, as he hears the words the slip from her lips. Fluid seizes in his chest, panic and paranoia both rearing up. It hasn’t even been a season since Shaju, and while this girl looks... well, not harmless, she’s clearly not covered in her own blood, but like he could take her, if need be.
”Hey, miss?” Venturing a half step closer, Nate hovers, trying to be nonthreatening, trying to not provoke her. ”Wil je... hulp hê?” Pemota drifts closer than he dares, her calming light just within reach of the woman.
“Wil je... hulp hê?” - “Do you... want help?”
NATE
