[ What carries him down into death? Alina, bright as the sun, with a knife in her hand.
Then there is nothing.
And nothing.
And nothing.
And then—
Life. Sensation. (Pain, bursting white-hot across exposed nerve endings.) A frisson of awareness, thought and understanding and the click-whir of questions, questions, questions coming back online while the body is pieced back together. While an organ is regrown from nothing within the cavity of his chest. ]
Quentin, [ is a hand grasping in the dark, instinct turning back towards the quiet warmth of a little room far from this pitch-black, agonizing space. ] Quentin.
[ His name, like it's the only word Nikolai knows. ]
feb. 13
Then there is nothing.
And nothing.
And nothing.
And then—
Life. Sensation. (Pain, bursting white-hot across exposed nerve endings.) A frisson of awareness, thought and understanding and the click-whir of questions, questions, questions coming back online while the body is pieced back together. While an organ is regrown from nothing within the cavity of his chest. ]
Quentin, [ is a hand grasping in the dark, instinct turning back towards the quiet warmth of a little room far from this pitch-black, agonizing space. ] Quentin.
[ His name, like it's the only word Nikolai knows. ]