“Max.”
The rat looks up from it’s hole.
“Are you happy?”
Of course he isn’t. How could he be? He was in a prison of his own making.
No, he wasn’t.
I was though.
“Will you ever be happy?”
Max turns away and goes deeper into my prison.
-
-
-
“It hurts.”
Illarian pauses, claws tracing his own throat.
“It hurts to breathe.”
I could imagine it would. Corpses weren’t made to breathe after all.
“So don’t.”
Illarian just stares at me. His chest unmoving ice as his claws scratch at fragile skin.
He looks heartbroken.
Lost.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes you did.”
“I always lie. You can’t trust me.”
He coughs up blood and I can see his wings being torn off over and over. I can imagine the crack of his ribs, the tearing of flesh as they reposition gasping lungs.
I want those lungs to keep breathing.
I do.
I really do.
“Only when you are scared.”
If I close my eyes, it’ll be just like before.
If I close my eyes I can pretend neither of us are broken. I can ignore the hoarse tearing in his voice and the ever looming fog in my mind.
Max nips at my ankles like the petulant prison he is.
There’s no point in pretending.
“I’m not scared.”
I’m furious.
I’m spiteful.
I’m-
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“I’m terrified too. So it’s okay if you are scared.”
Illarian pauses, clenching his claws deeper into his chest before,
“You aren’t alone.”
-
-
-
“You can’t just name a familiar Maxwell of all things.”
“Why not?”
He’s petulant. Pouting and staring straight up at me with those big brown eyes of his.
“Because he already has a name for one. And it’s undignified.”
“I actually wouldn’t mind being called Maxwell.”
The familiar is stupid. A werewolf of all things.
I should be proud of Silvestr for mastering the human art of binding; but it is just so foul.
What would I have done if the curse worked on me?
Kill the boy, I suppose.
Maxwell wasn’t like that. The familiar was one of those lowly parasites that required another to survive.
“See, he doesn’t mind.”
As if that was supposed to entreat me to the name. It doesn’t, nor will it ever.
“It’s repulsive.”
“But Knix!”
“But,” I glance over at the flustered boy. “you did good.”
The grin he gives shines so bright that I temporarily go blind.
-
-
-
“Why?”
Silvestr had asked at the end of the trial.
He had asked that when the old chains were lifted off my broken wrists and Illarian’s bloody eagle wings were returned to their proper place.
“Why what?”
I didn’t even need to ask. There’s a lot of reasons for him to ask but he’d only really ask after one.
All the others he could figure out.
All but one.
“Why him?”
If I was a liar I would have told him it was to hurt him.
Despite his beliefs, I was never a liar.
“Convenience.”
Some could say that, that answer was worse.
The way he flitches back says it’s the worst thing he ever heard. As if the blood on my hands was Silvestr’s.
As if the blood was from the monstrous human rather than the disgustingly loyal dog.
“You always lie.”
It’s the only revenge I can take on him as my fate is sealed.
“You always live in denial when you hear the truth.”
-
-
-
In the cage was a rat.
This small, miniscule thing.
It deserved to die.
Everything deserved to die.
I want it to burn.
Burn and burn.
Like my mind.
Like the acid dripping down my flesh.
Like my bare skin against the frozen metal of my cage.
I reach for it, for its death and my hand is met with air.
It was there, but I couldn’t see it.
It didn’t exist.
My sole companion, one made from the insanity of the poison and I couldn’t-
It wouldn’t-
I hated that repulsive, disgusting rat that taunted me.
It sat at the edge of my reach, distrustful and full of spite.
It watched and gloated as I was left to rot.
That stupid, stupid rat.
Oh how I wished for its death.