Page 22 of Palingenesis

Though being within arm’s reach of him shifts my purpose quicker than intended when I recognize the same wild, unkept hair as the newcomer. The one I’ve been watching from a distance too great for his mind to understand.

The spectacles are missing, and I find that it upsets me.

One glazed eye takes me in, the other swollen shut.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” I click my tongue, a taloned digit rising to peel a tuft of his blood-soaked hair from his sight. “What have you gotten yourself into, human? Hm? Suppose … you are—”

Mine now.

My lips spread as his breathing labors and his good eye rolls back.

The prophecy wills it so, and so do I.

Chapter 12

Shannon

Inhaling is like drinking fire through a straw, the breath burning all the way from my throat down into my core.

My eye is swollen shut.

Even the air around me feels … heated. Sparking with a warmth that doesn’t feel natural. It’s thick, rich, and flickering. It warbles behind my closed eyelids, the oranges and reds filling my aching sight.

The vibration of a groan escapes my throat unwillingly, grating over raw skin, and I once again find myself on a hard surface I don’t recall laying on. It creaks beneath me, the muffled noise crackling and faraway as I attempt to prop myself up.

Only one of my eyes open when I force it.

“Do not rush.”

I jolt, only to howl at the ripple of pain and collapse back to the floor. Instinctively, I curl in on myself, making my body as small as possible. The tears that leak out past my swollen lids burn, blurring what little bit of the blazing fireplace I can make out.

“I will not harm you, beloved.”

Gods, I’ve got to be hallucinating.

Everything hurts so bad that I don’t know if it’s the fire itself speaking to me, or the voices in my head placating me through the pain like some sort of fucked up disassociation. Like accepting magical flames is easier than recalling what—who—put me here in the first place.

Not that I know what this place really is …

Nothing seems familiar.

The fireplace is indistinct. The floor out of focus. I can only make out blurry edges of dark walls and fuzzy furniture

My glasses … Where are my glasses?

“Do not worry. I have your spectacles.”

I rear back, swallowing hard against the curse that lodges, and swing my gaze around.

The room blurs around me, making my head swim so hard I nearly black out again.

My breaths are deep and gulping as I attempt to form words that I can’t hear when they pass my lips. I can only just feel the vibration of them.

“Where am I? Who are you?” My fingers instinctively move with the signs, though much smaller and tucked into my chest. “I can’t see shit.”

“Your words are useless …” The voice trails off into somewhat of a growl—no, more of a purr—that leaves trembles of fear in its wake. How can I hear him and not myself? “But your hands …”

What the fuck!