sleep doesn't help if it's your soul that's tired
It's not about you. It's not about this, Finn wants to plead, but his throat closes tight around the words. Stop. You don't understand, please. He trembles hard, on the ground before the high backed chair, and no amount of fire can warm his bones. Holding tight to the shards of mirror that still cut into his hands, naked and painted with the touch of other people, he gazes up at Remi. "No," he mumbles, shaking his head. There are no wings here, no knives.
Just fire, and fingers cut to ribbons. Remi's voice rises suddenly, abruptly, and Finn flinches back hard enough to drop the mirror he's been trying to put together again. It shatters afresh on the ground, and bloody hands press to his ears. "Go away," he begs, hunching in on himself on his knees. His scars bare to the sky, and a whipcrack sounds in the distance, like rolling thunder. "I just want to go home."
Just fire, and fingers cut to ribbons. Remi's voice rises suddenly, abruptly, and Finn flinches back hard enough to drop the mirror he's been trying to put together again. It shatters afresh on the ground, and bloody hands press to his ears. "Go away," he begs, hunching in on himself on his knees. His scars bare to the sky, and a whipcrack sounds in the distance, like rolling thunder. "I just want to go home."
FINN
