A Deadly Bite

40 || Be Brave

Shaula is tiring. Exhaustion drips, crystalline beads that brush my skin and tingle an awakeness, a waterfall tumbling from far above. It conquers the feeling of sun-kissed light and small bare feet on grass, of slanted summer rays through a forest and someone's distant call.

I turn my gaze upwards, then my hand, reaching until the stream becomes a cascade, drenching me, flooding the landscape. Gushing, it propels me through the shattering sky. I swim, lungs aflame and heart pumping, until I begin to smell death and dust.

With the awkward ease of a flower's petals peeling back in the sun, reality's shroud settles over me.

I rock on my own feet, testing the bend of my toes, breathing slowly. This is only a momentary lapse in her concentration. It will end very soon, and I will not be able to fight it, yet that knowledge simply provides me with the desire to soak up every sense while I can. The weariness is mine, too. It throbs in my core, a charred, picked-at scar, spreading like a bruise -- or a delicate breath of frost, perhaps, a gentle, melodious ache -- through my bones.

The ground is stone. The surroundings are dark, murky, flecked with the scent of mildew. My face itches. My first thought is to brush a few curious fingers over my cheek, though I hurry to abandon that idea when I realise my hands are full. Held in my arms is a body. A person, alive, warm and shifting with the shallow rise and fall of sleep. Curled hair tumbles over my arm.

My heart skips, legs quaking. "Sarielle?"

My voice sounds strange. I swallow in a rush, wincing, though the only reply I receive is a low echo bounced back at me. Sarielle doesn't stir. I set her down on the ground anyway, joints stiff and difficult as rusty wires to bend in their desired shapes. The air is still water, impeding every movement, a persistent reminder of how trapped I am. I can do nothing to help Sarielle. I don't have the time nor the strength to take her away. I'm my own shell, hollow and jittery, defenceless.

Instead I kneel. Her limp hand lays over her chest, and I reach for it, twining my fingers clumsily with hers. Greedy flame spikes cold in my chest, but I can already feel Shaula's influence tangled within it, whispering soothing words until it calms. Under her command, it is willing, obedient. It watches and grins. It allows me this singular moment of forbidden touch, tittering its mockery. It is ironic, after all, that I finally taste control when it is far too late.

My fingers brush over flaking skin, the rough cracks of a wound. Anger swells. For once, it isn't a tool to chip away from within, but wholly mine, and it's fiercely hot. I squeeze Sarielle's hand, and a tear drips down my cheek. "I will destroy you," I whisper, staring at my white-skinned wrist and thinking of the serpent's fangs dug into my gums. "I vow it. I won't ever stop fighting you, Shaula."

The flame crackles, laughs. It would disappoint me if you did. Soft, strangling coils wrap my throat, cutting off my breath, blurring my vision. Do not fret. I will take very good care of your beloved Sarielle. Her very stretches out uncomfortably long, warped and stringy.

There's no chance for me to reply; she's already stolen my tongue from me. My struggles are desperate but feeble. I cling ever tighter to Sarielle's hand, letting it be the last piece of the present I feel before the past swallows me once again.

- ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ -

The frosty feel of my father's hand shocks me. I stretch my arm up, fisting my fingers around a couple of his in an attempt to warm them for him, but he jerks out of reach without a thanks. His glare is stony.

I flinch. My hand is numbly cold in the absence of his touch, prickling uncomfortably. I've lost count of the number of times he's evaded me now. Though he's still right there walking beside me, I feel lonely.