Not from the water.
From inside.
Shapes shift beneath the surface. Fingers. Shadows. Moth wings dragging across my skin, pulling me deeper when my body says up.
And then?—
he appears.
But it’s not Damien.
Not the lover.
Not the surgeon.
Not the priest.
This one wears no name.
His face is still Damien’s—but more feral, less man. He crouches in front of me in the dark water, watching me drown like he’s waiting for a truth I haven’t earned yet.
He doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t touch.
He just exists—like hunger made flesh.
And when I finally can’t hold my breath anymore, when I start to thrash and claw and plead without sound?—
He puts his hand over my heart.
And everything stops.
No pain.
No need.
No fear.
Only heat.
Only silence.
Only in the final version of him I was never meant to survive.
He leans in close.
His lips move against mine, not kissing—fusing.
And he breathes into me.
Not air.
Obedience.
When I open my eyes again, I’m above water.
Kneeling in the basin.
