[ she falls quiet, as Ilde speaks taking the time to think on it, the quite talking in contrast to the roar of gunfire. The remembrance of the people she relates so fondly to the sound. Fine, to keep listening, to in turn weigh her own thoughts against it. She doesn't expect Ilde to be more or less than she is, even if they don't always agree --
'Death is freedom.' Something closes high around her throat. The sharp click of metal choking out the breath, the stretch of skin around newly implanted metal, and she shuts her eyes tight against the bright, bright purple ( her cage is stone like amethyst is stone, the air burns with smell of lavender, the sun is ultraviolet out from behind her eyes and it's all she can taste, smell, hear, feel - ) that fills up her mind with a far too jarring memory, one she does her best to keep away from. Death is freedom. Freedom is her veins searing open, burning out with that light, she can feel every organ shutting down, she can feel her lungs giving out, she can feel it like an inevitability. Pain that is beautiful in it's absolute, it has no beginning, she can't remember what it was before
The gun clatters onto the bench and she catches herself on its edge. It's alright, she can walk now, she can move now. Recoils away from the memory she doesn't know an end off except the dark and black and - she shouldn't have come out of her room, she should have waited until this misery had abated, like the sick needed to eat plain foods. Should have, should have, should have - ] Ilde.
[ spits it out with a need, like the word didn't want to come out of her mouth. Then she's reaching for her hand, seeking with purpose not just for contact but she needs something press hard back into, to know flat and here and safe and - ] Please, I just need - [ she should call for the Cathaway, she doesn't want to let this slip, needs her collar, needs that hard line of herself that she can't manage, angling to Ilde's fingers around her throat instead, be solid, be here, keep her two feet on the floor. Because there's an awareness of Ilde that's not right, that prickling feeling that happens when she phase shifts, that way she slips in and out of here and there that isn't physical. Reality was never so solid, and dying felt like the last echoes of something that happened long ago, like radiation still transmuting through different forms until it reaches it's own end. ]
no subject
'Death is freedom.' Something closes high around her throat. The sharp click of metal choking out the breath, the stretch of skin around newly implanted metal, and she shuts her eyes tight against the bright, bright purple ( her cage is stone like amethyst is stone, the air burns with smell of lavender, the sun is ultraviolet out from behind her eyes and it's all she can taste, smell, hear, feel - ) that fills up her mind with a far too jarring memory, one she does her best to keep away from. Death is freedom. Freedom is her veins searing open, burning out with that light, she can feel every organ shutting down, she can feel her lungs giving out, she can feel it like an inevitability. Pain that is beautiful in it's absolute, it has no beginning, she can't remember what it was before
The gun clatters onto the bench and she catches herself on its edge. It's alright, she can walk now, she can move now. Recoils away from the memory she doesn't know an end off except the dark and black and - she shouldn't have come out of her room, she should have waited until this misery had abated, like the sick needed to eat plain foods. Should have, should have, should have - ] Ilde.
[ spits it out with a need, like the word didn't want to come out of her mouth. Then she's reaching for her hand, seeking with purpose not just for contact but she needs something press hard back into, to know flat and here and safe and - ] Please, I just need - [ she should call for the Cathaway, she doesn't want to let this slip, needs her collar, needs that hard line of herself that she can't manage, angling to Ilde's fingers around her throat instead, be solid, be here, keep her two feet on the floor. Because there's an awareness of Ilde that's not right, that prickling feeling that happens when she phase shifts, that way she slips in and out of here and there that isn't physical. Reality was never so solid, and dying felt like the last echoes of something that happened long ago, like radiation still transmuting through different forms until it reaches it's own end. ]