--XXXIX--

Neither Kaylee nor I looked behind us. We both waited still, standing like statues, until we were collected for the night. We both always refused to look behind us, wherever we were in whatever experiment or procedure they decided to perform on us on whatever day of that three-month child torture. Neither of us wanted to see the injured or the bodies; neither of us wanted to see who we hadn't killed, and who we had killed.

MONDAY

8:47 AM

Northwest of Windcreek

Leaves and snow fell and swirled around me. They seemed to be almost spinning; they seemed to be ablaze. I didn't know if I was dizzy- from perhaps the loss of blood or hunger or fear. Or it was confetti, confetti to decorate the brutality of one more terror-ridden flashback nightmare; frills to ornament the show. Frills to ornament the horrible memories. I couldn't afford to freeze, and so, my hands weren't idle.

My blood- a familiar dark color- was not the first thing I noticed as I pulled as hard as I humanly could.

What I noticed first was the unusual trembling of my fingers. And I thought, probably it was just my PTSD- memories of rapes or abuse or Nightingale; or that combined with the fact that all I ate for an entire week of worthlessness was a few pieces of toast.

Well, at least it was French toast, I remember thinking to myself. Yummy bread.

Hurray.

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I heard myself make some kind of whimper, like pain was something I wasn't accustomed to. And I would've been right- I never was accustomed to it; never got accustomed to it- it just hurt me every single time.

I grunted, and moaned, the flesh under my skin shifting like plates under the earth's surface before the earthquake; like the surgery done to my bones without the knockout.

"This is really not the best remedy for a starving self-taught gymnast with an already-existing self-harm condition!" I yelled, not at the Talon, and not at anyone else in particular- just at myself; through my imperfect and gritted teeth. It was, to me, what seemed like another moment of terror and/or anger not unlike the ones from Nightingale- almost like I didn't choose to speak; I just heard the words. "Especially not a tiny five-foot-three one who doesn't even have a full rings routine!" I kept pulling, harder- and harder and harder. I remember in that moment, songs that I wrote filled my head; not because they were pretty, but because most of them matched the situation- and also, because most of them were my only solace from the tortures of the past. "And hasn't even competed!" My own voice, which always sounded like what a marshmallow would sound like if it sang, seemed to lower itself to whisper, after several more groans of pain- horrendous and morbid groans mixed with breathy, dainty, nervous laughter. "Since when, exactly, were sharp objects so hard to come by-"

The enormous Talon man's axe blade- the one I had zero chance of lifting- buried itself in the ground next to me, only two inches away from my hand.

Instinctively I jumped up and threw a backwards handspring, to a back with a full- but landing only on one leg after.

He was back. Though it could have been only my imagination, his eyes weren't as deep as the red color that I remembered from only minutes ago. I'd been staring at my blood too much, perhaps; the hues of fresh- and raw, and hot- human hemoglobin.

Though I do remember not having even enough hemoglobin at times, during my days in the Lowdown and sometimes even after that. Things got a bit better, after becoming friends with Tiana and her family.

"Do you..." I said, my voice shaking like a leaf rustling in the wind. A leaf made of soft marshmallow. "Do you speak words?"

Ugh. Such intelligence, such acumen, such genius- amazing dialogue choice, right? Do you speak WORDS. Why I spoke at all, I'll never know. I started doing these small little hops backward, on one leg. I swung both my arms and threw another backwards handspring, onto one leg. My head and chest were only just rising back into the standing position- when I heard a voice speak.

"He won't speak to you, Midnight."