PANIC CORD ━━━ l.skywalker ¹

08

E I G H T

"Clary."

She can't breathe. She feels tied to the ground, as if she's suffocating. She looks around frantically, chest heaving, as if trying to grasp the last amount of breath it can scavenge. The whisper grows louder, more intense, and the pressure on Clary's body only seems to increase. She feels overwhelmed and empty at the same time.

"Clary."

Clary struggles against the invisible bonds that seem to hold her down. She doesn't know if she's lying on the ground or if she's standing upright or lying on her side—she tries not to feel frightened but her panicked pulse isn't slowing down. She can't see yet she feels as if everything she needs to view is there. It's pitch black but it isn't. It's suffocating but it's empty.

She feels cold and warm at the same time. She's trembling but at the same time she feels stiff. She cringes when the voice intensifies—she thinks it's a woman. She doesn't recognize the speaker, yet they're familiar, as if she's known them her entire life.

"Clary."

Suddenly the pressure she's felt throughout her entire body is focused only on her chest. She no longer feels empty. Clary coughs suddenly and blinks rapidly, trying to make out some figure that could be standing over her. She's suffocating in the blackness—she's drowning in the darkness. She tries to cry out in alarm but her voice catches in her throat, causing her to sputter. The pressure intensifies and her lungs feel as if they're on fire. She wants to cry but she feels nothing.

"Clary!"

The voice has become more urgent. Clary reaches forward, trying to grab at whatever has their grip on her chest but the pressure moves suddenly, finding its way around her neck. Clary gasps, reaching up, attempting to pull the hands away from her neck but she finds nothing. She feels nothing. She can't even feel herself.

"Clary—!"

Clary continues to struggle. She feels vulnerable. She wants to breathe yet at the same time she feels as if she doesn't need to at all. The pressure tightens around her neck and she manages to choke out a cry, still writhing against their grip. Clary hates being vulnerable.

Let me go, is all Clary can think. She finds it weird, how her thoughts have been subdued like this. She's never had only one thought in her mind—usually they're racing, the different ideas colliding, fighting, as if they're competing for what Clary should act on. She feels vulnerable and scared—how is it that she can feel this suffocating against her neck, yet not feel anything at all? She reaches up again yet her hands touch nothing.

"Clary—!"

Her airway is cut off. Clary's chest heaves for a final breath and her lungs seem to be screaming inside her. Her heart is beating so loudly that it's the only other sound in the darkness.

"I hope you'll be a fool."

The pressure is lifted. Clary gasps, sitting upright. She's still in the blackness. Shivers tickle her spine and she looks around frantically. Had she been lying down this whole time? Clary struggles to rise to her feet but she feels tied to her spot. She can't move her legs. She can't cry out for help. She's vulnerable. And she hates that.

"Clary, I hope you'll be a fool..."

The voice whispers in her ear. Clary tries to turn her head but it's as if she's stuck in her spot. She shakes as she suddenly feels a figure behind her, resting a hand on Clary's shoulder. It snakes its way up before resting against her cheek. It grips her tightly, suddenly, and forces her head to turn the other way—Clary feels the rest of her body move as she's faced with darkness. Clary feels empty and vulnerable as the hand grips her tighter. She sees two eyes staring into hers—dark and gleaming. They're familiar. She's seen them before. Ever since she was little, she's seen them. A hooded cloak darkens the rest of their face; she is the darkness.