Therapy
Ren Boldheart, Taus, some time after the events of Beg Forgiveness
"If you desire healing, let yourself be ill."
Ren Boldheart, Taus, some time after the events of Beg Forgiveness
"If you desire healing, let yourself be ill."
It was over. And it would have been nice, if it had been as simple as that.
She wasn't a captive anymore; no one was going to torture her unless she asked them to. She should have known that. Her mind, at least, should have known. She was loved and that should have been that. She'd earned her happy ending. This was the part where stories ended.
But no. Neither her mind nor her body could be relied on to remember her new truths. Towards the end of her captivity, Gareth had noticed how unhinged she was coming. As it turned out, that damage didn't vanish overnight. Her mood swings had settled, but with more sleep came nightmares. It upset Gareth so much when she woke up screaming--he knew why, or could guess, now--that she'd stopped going home with him, opting to stay in her her new room, a room at the top of a tower with a lock on the inside of the door. It had a balcony which overlooked the garden. It was full of toys and tools and spare parts, books of puzzles, a chess board, and a small walk in closet she was slowly filling with clothes that weren't her uniform. The whole tower was full of rats, and there were so many stairs to climb that she'd know that someone was coming five minutes before they arrived.
It was a beautiful room, everyday proof that the King was, in fact, sorry. It should have been more than enough. She didn't understand why it wasn't.
She hoarded food terribly. She knew it pissed off Cara, who didn't need any help hating her, but she couldn't stop. Food security had never been an aspect of her life, and the last year had left her almost as aggressive about food as a stray dog. She couldn't stand the sight of swords anywhere near Gareth, which was kind of an issue when they both belonged to the King's Guard.
Sometimes she delighted in the King's touch, in proving to herself over and over that no matter how much he hurt her, she'd survive. He had no interest in killing her; a cat who kept a rat around just to play with. Other times, when he reached for her, even innocuously, she flinched. She lived in fear of a moment where Gareth startled her and she flinched. She was terrified that if she ever did, he would be too hurt to ever touch her again.
She'd wanted to see the King's dungeon, for sex purposes, and asked him to take her down there. She'd asked, and yet she'd seen an iron cross and had a panic attack on the spot. Needless to say, the King had been unamused, and repeat visits were out of the question.
She knew she was safe. She repeated it to herself like a prayer. But no matter how many people said it and how many more proved it, she couldn't make herself believe it.
She still looked in the mirror and saw something that happened to other people. Dangerous. A monster. A lifetime of being told, and it had taken Colin, Avi, and Gareth, together and in their own ways, to make her believe it. Her breaking point had been found. It looked like the scar on Gareth's chest, tasted like blood in her mouth, and came back to her like bile when fingers laced between hers.
It was over. Wasn’t it over? Why didn’t it feel over?
It had been Grilka, ludicrously, who had first suggested talking to someone about it. Not just any someone, which was what differentiated Grilka’s suggestion from Gareth’s many. Gareth wanted her to talk to him about it, wanted to fix all the damage all on his own. But he was too tied up in the whole thing, and Ren was too scared of hurting him to ever really be honest. Despite her determination to stop hiding things, she’d started again almost immediately once it became clear that he was hurting nearly as much as she was.
Grilka, instead, suggested she talk to a particularly empathetic statue.
That wasn’t a really kind way to put it, Ren was pretty sure, but it was the best she could make of the situation. He, or it, or they, was some sort of sentient statue thing. Grilka said it could help with “ailments of the mind” which wasn’t helping Ren’s confidence going into the situation. But she couldn’t deny that she felt like something was wrong with her head; it was like she couldn’t believe what she knew she knew. Maybe dying twice had broken something in her head. Maybe it could help. She was trying to go to doctors more.
So, maybe it was a dumb idea, and maybe she hadn’t really thought it through, being desperate for something to help, but she went to where Grilka had instructed her to go and knocked on a door that looked much like any other.
“It isn’t locked,” was the reply that came. The voice sounded unusual, but if it was coming from a living statue as Grilka had described, that would make sense. Tentatively, she opened the door. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t what she got.
It was a statue, arguably. More like a ball jointed doll, but big. Like an animatronic, a lot, and a little uncomfortably close to an aesthetic match for the bird she'd made for the King, all whites and gold and delicate joints. Apparently, she'd guessed well at his tastes, if he kept something--someone--like this around.
Unfortunately, she also had to process the fact that it was sprawled out on a chaise, one leg hooked over the back, covered in naught but an ivory half-cape--so basically not at all--one arm trailing loosely on the floor, and a confusing two more arms resting between their legs in what would have been a highly suggestive way if there had been anything at all down there.
Mm. Alright. Okay.
Ren stood blankly in the doorway for a moment, just taking in the scene. She had been expecting a sort of doctor-ish persona, when told to go to a person who "helped with illnesses of the mind." Not... what the fuck this was.
"...Welp," she said finally, having finished processing. "I jus' got pranked by a snake. Alrigh'. I'll leave y'to yer, uh." Sexual lounging. "Whatever this is."
"I was trying to lounge sexually," the thing confirmed helpfully, although it had no mouth so she had no idea where the voice was coming from. "But I don't think it's working. Do you have any grapes?"
It had six eyes, all blinking owlishly in what might have been confusion if there was a rest of the face to match it. As it was, it just looked alien.
"No, it's workin', that's definitely what you were doin'," Ren informed him in a manner that might have been helpful if not for her whole demeanor of vaguely affronted confusion. "I don't have any grapes, but also y'don't have a mouth, so I guess we're both comin' up short."
“To be clear, I wasn’t going to eat them. For some reason, I... hmm.” The statue thing sat up, for a limited definition of the words. Its body was definitely upright, but it had too many limbs for “sitting” to feel like an accurate description. Also, who sat cross-legged on a couch, anyway? “I thought maybe grapes in the floor hand would work. Floor grapes.” Ren’s eyebrows rose wordlessly. “Now that I’m saying it out loud, it seems like a waste of food, or possibly a needlessly complex method of feeding the rats.”
“Yer definitely overthinkin’ it,” Ren said, a bit amused despite herself. “Which comin’ from me is really sayin’ somethin’.” Although underthinking was as much of a problem for her as overthinking, some days. “Also, th’ rats only eat from designated areas now anyway.” This was important for her to remind people, since no one was particularly happy about the increase in rat traffic in the castle now that she’d moved from “the shitty backdoor basement” into the castle proper.
She couldn’t just forbid them from eating, was the thing. She’d been spending a lot of her time wrestling out compromises from a very unhappy castle staff who didn’t want to accept that “no rats” was not an option. It didn’t help that “playing nice” was not a card traditionally held in her hand, or even put in her deck at all. She didn’t think any of them appreciated how kind it was of her to try to work with them in the first place, when she could have just done whatever she damn well pleased. If it hadn’t been for Gareth’s helpful mediation, she would have stopped trying already.
“Look,” she said to the statue with a sigh. “Yer obviously expectin’ someone very not me, an’ also, again, I did absolutely jus’ get punked by a snake, so.” She gestured to the door behind her with a thumb. She was ready to get out of this weird, awkward situation. Maybe she’d go talk to an actual statue. It seemed as likely to help as anything at this point.
“I clearly wasn’t expecting anyone,” the statue protested. “Why would I invite someone to view my lounging before I had it right?” It stated this as if the logic was unimpeachable. Ren was briefly distracted by the way they interlaced the fingers of four hands in sequence. It made a sound like a nest of rattlesnakes, a sound she was too familiar with, these days. “...I suppose it might be helpful for the lounging prototype process,” the statue capitulated. “New perspectives. But the experts are also the intended audience.” Its voice picked up speed as they contemplated the issue, giving Ren no space to interject. “Complicated. That tends to be the way. With the meaty set.”
“Ah,” Ren said, interrupting as she instantly understood despite the ridiculous implausibility of the situation. “Yer practicin’ to seduce the King.”
Ridiculous. Even the statues in this place were horny as fuck. The King’s effect was truly infinite.
He didn’t even need seducing, but Ren understood that half of everyone in the castle was consistently trying to get him to ravish them anyway. He was spoiled for choice, but Ren still wasn’t particularly smug about how often she managed to catch the attentions others envied. For one, he could go all day if you let him, so if people were just better at being fuckable, they wouldn’t have a lick of difficulty. For two, when Ren wanted to have sex with him, she just waited until he looked slightly bored and then instigated what could best be described as a game of tag. It wasn’t difficult.
“If you don’t make the effort to seduce him, his attitude becomes either petulant or aggressive. He’s easier to manage when the dynamic suggests he is pursued, rather than pursuer. As such, it’s... easiest.”
This flew strongly in the face of Ren’s personal experience, which was that he fucking loved pursuing, but to be fair to the statue, the King’s fun seemed to be found in how much she wanted him, despite the fact she obviously shouldn’t. He seemed to find no more satisfaction than when he’d cornered her into a degree of wound-up that left her all but completely senseless. And this statue didn’t have the advantage of being... prey shaped.
“I’m aesthetically pleasing,” the statue was continuing, “so I hadn’t anticipated the present difficulties.”
Ren snorted. That wasn’t the words she would have used, honestly. It was aesthetically pleasing the same way art was. She couldn’t imagine wanting to fuck it, or seeing at as a sexual object--literally--at all. But then again, Avi did seem like the kind who would rub his dick on art if it were an option.
“Have y’tried just runnin’ past him real fast?” Ren suggested. “It works every time fer me, but I am real small and prey-shaped.” If this guy ran by really fast, there would probably be screams of “OH GOD WAS THAT A FUCKING GIANT MARBLE SPIDER PERSON,” which did sort of ruin the mood, sexually speaking.
“I have not. I think you’re proceeding from the premise that I want to successfully seduce him, rather than simply reassure him he is worthy of being seduced.”
Ren blinked in confusion. “Does he need reassurance that--”
Oh no, were things with Gareth that bad? She worried at her lip. She was trying so hard in that area, even if she suspected it was just to assuage her guilt at 'stealing him'. Maybe she should be getting seduction lessons, in that case.
“This is a distraction from your intent. Which may be purposive, on your part.” It manifested a set of eyebrows, and raised them. Ren wondered if it was because of how high hers were at this point. “Why are you assuming you were given poor advice?” it asked. “Did someone refer you to me as an authority on recumbency?”
“No,” Ren said with an irritated sigh. “Ey referred me t’ you as an authority on broken brains.” She couldn’t quite articulate why sexual lounging precluded being a medical expert, but she felt very strongly that it must. Doctors couldn’t just go around lounging in front of patients. It gave off the wrong image. Dr. Karek would agree with her, she was sure.
“Patently incorrect,” the statue said, and she nodded, but it kept going. “I’ve never encountered a broken brain, with the exception of blunt force trauma. And if you had a skull fracture, you’d be less coherent.”
It stood, and took a step towards her, before pausing, letting their hands come rest at roughly waist height. She supposed her supposedly prey-like demeanor was helped along, lately, by the fact that her flight instincts had become hair trigger. She blamed Avi for much of this, but some of it had to be her ongoing... issues. It was too tall for her liking, too close. She took a half step backwards automatically, only stopping when it did.
“May I approach you?” it asked. “For clarification, I do not intend to be seductive in so doing.”
“Sure,” she said warily. “Although if yer not intending to seduce, I’m not sure why. I’m lookin’ fer medical help, not recumbent seduction classes.”
It stepped closer, black, pupil-less eyes meeting hers. There were too many of them, but they were otherwise un-alarming. She was used to the sight, used to reading intent from eyes with no pupil or sclera to assist. But it came too close, closer than she’d expected, and her feet shifted into an unconscious fighting position, her focus spreading outward. It took her hand--softly, as if cradling an egg, but still, without asking--and pressed once cold, ridged thumb to the underside of her wrist, as if taking her pulse. This was almost medical, so she could almost excuse it.
“You have avoidant tendencies,” it informed her. She knew that. “Reasonable, under the circumstances.” She also knew that. She was about to be confused about how it knew that already, when its head... unfolded, that was the only word for it, the top of it opening like a blossoming lotus, and collected into a fog of cottony tendrils, twining and untwining. She flinched back, startled by such an implausible sight. A year ago, she probably would have screamed, but the instinct had been broken out of her.
“What th’ fuck,” she began, but before she could finish the thought, its third and fourth hands rose to cup her jaw. “But you are no longer a prisoner; as such, being a fugitive is not wholly rational.” It was watching her intently, and she didn’t like any part of this.
“How th’ fuck d’you know--stop that!” She batted at one of its arms with the back of her own, teeth bared in a tiny snarl. The collision hurt, because she was hitting stone, but it didn’t really bother her. She was used to hitting the King, who was even more solid.
It stepped back, folding its hands together again, though its head was still open and... swirly. Misty. Swirly misty. It was unsettling.
“My apologies; I didn’t mean to startle you. You could think of this as my... medical hat. Sometimes uniforms are helpful.”
Ren was skeptical of most things, but stopping when told wasn’t a trait commonly found in Aeris, in Ren’s experience, so the actual ceasing of its curious assault was a relief. She didn’t think rats could fight a statue effectively, and doubted it had a soul for her to grab onto. She was seriously lacking for living people willing to let her practice that, anyway, and therefore dubious of her own skills.
“I jus’ never seen a head unfold before,” she said, grumpy and still guarded and yet embarrassed at having been so obviously startled. It was rude to panic at people’s anatomy.
“I may have wanted to determine how you react when startled. It was slightly unethical.” Ren agreed, but it was hardly the first to test her in such a manner. She got it. She was a dangerous criminal. People wanted to test the waters. That didn’t mean she liked it. “I fear my moral fiber is degrading from exposure to heathen sexual practices. I shall pray on the matter.” Ren snorted, for a multitude of reasons. Pray to what? she did not ask.
“On the subject of the King’s reassurance... no, he doesn’t need it,” the statue informed her, jumping back to a conversation she’d thought dropped. “He wants it, however, insofar as I can tell. For reasons of ego.” She nodded at this, thinking of how much her begging seemed to please the King, and how satisfied he’d seemed when she pledged herself back into his ownership. She hadn’t thought he’d be so satisfied to have her, and it had done good things for her own ego, as well. Being owned because she was wanted was a much better feeling than being owned because she was a thing too dangerous to be left alone.
It was something. She was relaxing into it.
“Admittedly,” the thing continued, “we have not spent much time in each other’s company.” It raised a hand to where its mouth would be, and one formed. She wished it would stop doing that, but was starting to understand it as a form of bizarre, temporal expression. “Still less have I kept company with you,” it added, pressing two fingers to newly formed lips. “But I am... a good listener. People talk.”
It paused a moment, considering. “Or moan loudly. In some cases. Discretion is not an Aeris value.”
“I really hope no one’s been moanin’ about me behind my back,” she snorted, aiming for levity and also distraction. “Be a weird thing t’moan about.”
The statue smiled wolfishly--that is to say, it smiled while manifesting fangs. The result was fucking awful. She wished she could throw a rat at it, but she was trying not to do that anymore.
“The previous statement was insincere; I am usually sincere, but not incapable of irony. I find it best to clarify up front.”
“I wound have been surprised if anyone was actually moaning about me,” Ren pointed out. She wasn’t incapable of recognizing sarcasm.
“There are, yes, much better vectors for moaning on the premises. We have a sex dungeon, for one.” Ren managed not to flinch at the unintentional reminder of one of her most bitter recent failures.
“I guess I would be th’ talk of th’ castle,” she admitted sourly. There had been a pretty big dust-up thanks to her, although she’d kind of hoped the ‘thanks to her’ part had been lost in the mix. But she supposed it must make good gossip, especially when people already tended to look down on the King’s Guard, as she was quickly learning. One of those rehabilitated criminal types, a program that was barely even known, having been tricked, tortured, kept in captivity, under everyone’s nose? It could be seen as evidence of their failure. It was, but since “their” included her boyfriend, and also now her, the whole thing chafed. How dare they gossip, as if they had a right to her story and how it was told. As if they could pass judgment, when they’d never cared a lick for her before and certainly didn’t now. Re-pledged into the King’s service as she was, she was now an inconvenience to them all.
It tapped its chin with a finger, and a finger, and a finger, and a finger. The result was sort of like a number of very small horses clopping across a tile floor. “Everyone is the talk of the castle. Talking is the castle pastime.” It returned to the chaise, sitting rather than sprawling out again, then motioned to a chair. Which wasn’t a ‘chair,’ per se, so much as a cushion storage area. It looked appealing, vaguely nestlike and eye-searing in aniline purple velvet.
Ren considered both the chair, as it were, and the thing in question.
“I know it’s not rational,” she informed it. “Nothin’ about it is rational.” She ought to be fine. She ought to be better than fine. She ought to be reveling in her victory every second of every day. Several impossible things had become possible, and now she was quite literally living the high life, a beautiful room and a beautiful boyfriend. She wasn’t even a criminal anymore. She just still felt like one. Any second, the curtains would be pulled down and the joke revealed. “I feel like I’m goin’ crazy because of it.” She absolutely was going crazy. So crazy that she’d go to talk to a statue just because she was told, that she’d go to sit in its nest of pillows just because it indicated. Unstable, unstable enough that she’d do that and still glare at, still have the walls nearby swarming with rats.
She was dangerous all the time, but particularly when she was unstable. She felt like even she couldn’t predict what she’d do or how she’d react, anymore.
“Now,” the thing said, “as to your actual reason for visiting, i tmay reassure you to know that sanity is a construct and rationality, the first of all lies.”
Her glare sharpened. “I dunno why y’think that would be reassurin’,” she informed it. “’Don’t worry, yer not goin’ insane, technically you an’ everyone else has just been insane th’ whole time’ ain’t exactly th’ heartwarmin’ message I was hopin’ for. I don’t want reassurance. I wanna fix it. I jus’ wanna stop...” Acting like a lunatic and alienating the people who cared about her. Hurting Gareth. Being paranoid. The ceaseless flashes of memories she’d sooner forget. She waved her hand vaguely, unable to find the words. “I jus’ want it to stop,” she repeated, this time with a full stop.
“Because you aren’t alone,” the statue said, softly, solid black eyes blinking slowly. “Which isn’t to say you aren’t unique. You are one of so, so many people, and things, that is hurting. And who want it to stop.” It leaned forward. “It won’t, completely. ‘Stop’ means dead. ‘Fixed’ means dead. You won’t ever be done with it, and you should know that.” It opened all its hands, a gesture of helplessness repeated. “Because I will not lie, that is what I am telling you. That you will not be fixed.”
Ren clenched, fists and teeth. She’d suspected, but she didn’t like hearing it. She knew she wasn’t alone. Gareth was hurting; Avi was too, in his own way. Not being alone didn’t mean it wasn’t a problem she needed to fix. Something that needed to be repaired, like any machine of moving parts. She’d been starting on their hurt, or been trying to, before she realized that hers was getting in the way. She couldn’t be like Gareth, focusing on everyone else so she could ignore herself. Not if she wanted him to be different.
“I don’t, even,” she spat out bitterly. “Stop at death, I mean. I been dead twice, an’ look at me.” She gestured sourly to herself. If anything, the dying just made it worse, and she doubted she’d stop at two. Doubted she’d be able to. Already, she wanted to try more things; it was only Gareth’s concern and Avi’s watchful eyes that kept her firmly ensconced within her own body.
“Apologies,” it said. “I should have realized there would be individuals here for whom non-existence was complex.”
Ren nodded. Death was non-existence for most people. Gareth didn’t even remember being dead. But she remembered for them both. The taste of his soul haunted dreams and nightmares both, like the copper taste of blood that won’t ever leave.
“There was a time before,” she insisted. Before she was broken. “It feels like I should be able to... I dunno, get back to that. Everything’s fine now. I’m in a better position than I coulda dreamed of. I should be fine.” She should be better than fine. Why was this happening now?
“The help that I usually offer involves bringing memories. Calling up.” It gestured in the air, a gleaming white letter forming in the air following its traces. She watched it, idly, wondering if they were really there or just something she could see now with her sight that didn't come from her eyes. “I don’t think that would work for you, yet.” It scratched at the gold base of its skull, an oddly human gesture. “Maybe... yes.”
It smiled, not with fangs, but kind of worse. The smile started gentle, but stretched too far, ear to ear, before retracting. Someone should tell it that it was doing it wrong. It wouldn’t be her.
“Could you bring me a rat?”
Pff. Could she ever. Wordlessly, she reached into her shorts pocket and pulled out Phoebe. She was never, ever without rats, and she never would be again. She needed them, but she didn’t like the feeling in the back of her mind that she was carting them around like fuel.
It gently took Phoebe into cupped hands, looking to Ren for approval. Ren was watching sharply, her eyes daggers of promised threats. Phoebe could handle herself, but one day, someone would push good sense for the sake of seeing what Ren would do. She was sure of it.
Today didn’t seem to be that day, however. The statue carefully supported Phoebe’s back legs, tentatively scritching behind her twitching nose. Phoebe was more comfortable with the situation then Ren was, because of course she was. She’d had to get used to Avi, someone she considered to be fair worse, and Ren hung out with him all the time, screaming. She had survived Ren dying twice. Phoebe, at this point, had nerves of steel.
“As for going back... to the best of my knowledge, time moves only one way. And... hm.”
It raised one hand and held it up, motionless, like a mime forming an invisible wall. Another hand shot up and pushed against it, frantically, while the first hand remained wholly motionless, as if they belonged to two different entities.
“Imagine you are pushing against a stuck door. Pounding against it, ramming it with your shoulder. You are putting all of your muscle into it.”
It formed a comical little bipedal figure with the fingers of the moving hand, running them back and forth, illustrating.
“Then the door comes unstuck. What happens?” It blinked in sequence, an odd round-robin of marble eyelids.
“You go flyin’ through th’ door,” Ren said, bemused and uncertain as to where this line of thought was going. She knew from personal experience about locked doors.
The statue worked a fingertip along Phoebe’s spine, slowly, seemingly inattentive. “You are now in a better position than you could have dreamed of. The door has come unstuck.” It leaned forward, slowly, and breached Ren’s personal bubble again to boop her softly on the nose.
“Why do you expect be fine, and not flat on your ass?”
Ren blinked, considering this at some length.
“Hmm.”
She considered it some more, taking her time to prod at the metaphor, which was regretfully holding fairly sound. She sighed.
“Well. How do I get up, then? Cause I can’t jus’ stay on my ass, an’ it’s causin’ issues.”
“First: time. Second:” It unfurled every hand that wasn’t currently supporting a Phoebe. “...you need a hand. I am making a visual pun,” it added, helpfully.
The face she made reflected both her opinion of puns and the sensitive topic of ‘time.’ Technically speaking, she had tons of time, and had for a while. Yet she somehow seemed to have none at all, with a million things she wanted to get done and a million more she wanted to start, and then things like this, getting in her way. She had lost almost a full year to her captivity, which wasn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, but she was still young, and felt its loss keenly.
The statue traced over the letter in the air again, making it flare between itself and Ren, then added lines around it, a looping, circling thing like knotwork. Magic, she supposed. Not any she’d seen before, but that wasn’t saying much. Her research into that area was only just beginning, and had been focused on demonology thus far, as it had seemed the most pressing.
“First, however,” it said, “I would prefer to address your self-loathing, so that you feel worthy to request help.”
“Self-loathin’?” Ren asked with a surprised snort. “Yer th’ first person to ever accuse me o’ that.” Her self-confidence was her biggest flaw, historically. “People line up t’tell me how overblown my pride is.”
Although. Most of those people, the ones whose opinions had mattered, had been lining up when she was in captivity. The assumptions made about her then were mostly incorrect, made by people who hadn't known what was happening and regretted the things they’d said about her now. So maybe it was a shame that before they’d had a chance to regret, she'd started believing them.
“Perhaps I should be more precise; I would like to address what you feel you can, and should, receive from others.” It reached forward and pressed a fingertip to Ren’s forehead. “I think that you... take a lot of pride, yes. But you take pride like you take meals. It enters you and then it leaves you.” It paused. “I am not implying that you shit pride. That would be weird.”
“Sounds like yer implyin’ I shit pride,” Ren pointed out, amused. It wasn’t wrong, though. Or, well, maybe it was, since she couldn’t really understand what it meant. But her sense of pride had been... weird, since the King’s Guard. She was a lot less confident... not in her own abilities, but in the worth of those abilities. She’d been treated like a cog in a machine, and told her ideas were bad, dangerous, wrong. She could do amazing things, she supposed, but now she wondered if they were even worth doing. Even her bird, a marvel of modern engineering by any stretch of the imagination, she just felt vaguely neutral about, as if anyone could have done it.
Ren became, slowly, aware of a sensation like when she shoved her way into a rat’s mind. But she was still firmly in her own mind, was the thing, and her own body. It was a bizarre feeling, like a veil over her senses. Like having both of her hands somehow occupying the same space.
“Are you doin’ that?” she asked, interrupting the statue’s protest that it had definitely not been implying she shat pride. She asked, because it was entirely possible she was the one doing it, on accident. She was constantly figuring out new things she could do.
“Yes, I am doing that. May I have your consent to continue? I think it may be instructive for you.” It signed something new in the air, but didn’t quite connect the two ends together.
“Sure.” Ren shrugged. “It feels weird, but jus’ because I’m used to bein’ one or th’ other, not both at th’ same time.” It didn’t even have the headachey sensation of the feedback from multiple rats, shared together in her mind. At least not yet. And she’d been practicing that anyway, now that she knew headache medicine existed and would not be withheld from her out of spite. “Can she feel anythin’?”
“Only what she ordinarily does. And that is what is important. Her, and the rest...” It completed the symbol in the air.
Slowly, Ren was filled with sensation. It flowed from only Phoebe, perhaps, but rats were communal and Phoebe was a very special rat. Her mind was sieved from the multitude of ratkind nearby. She could communicate with them the way Ren could, a purified version of that connection without the heritage that Ren now felt as baggage.
It was a slow build, but utterly overwhelming. It felt like warmth on a cold day, like being small and curled up in an alleyway, one body in the middle of dozens. It felt like connections forged and never doubted. A pure and absolute trust, amounting to love. It radiated through Phoebe’s mind and into Ren’s like a hall of mirrors, a thousand memories compressed like a palimpsest of a single sensation. A voiceless voice, a meaningless meaning: trust you trust you hold hold hold ours ours ours.
“I remember that,” Ren said, voice quiet and dazed and more than a little wistful. She was staring off into the middle distance, eyes full of unshed tears not seeing what was in front of her. Back when the world had been simple, when there had been a “them” and an “us” that made sense to her. Back before everything in her life was hierarchy, back before gods and masters, when she’d been, what had she called it? A hive of like-minded individuals? Before others owned her, and she, in turn, had begun to fear what she did was own.
“It is happening now,” the statue informed her. “I am able to access the present, as well as the past. And, these...” It gestured towards Phoebe. “...Are the individuals that know you best. Their estimation of your character is therefore likely most accurate. And they have granted it to you without assessing a... reciprocal price.”
Ren was choking on the feeling as if it were a fist in her throat, but it began tapering away, slowly, fading into the background, drifting into echo. The statue held its hand out, and Phoebe scampered from its palm into Ren’s lap. Ren’s fingers wrapped gently into her warm fur, one thin digit scratching under her chin, where Ren knew from years of muscle memory she enjoyed being touched best. Phoebe nuzzled her nose against Ren’s thumb, a sign of affection that Ren had known for long enough to forget learning.
The sensation was fading but it was there. Her same emotions recycled through the eyes and mind of a hundred rats and one who loved her best; she had always sought them out with a sort of mindless certainty that they were hers. It felt very good to have confirmation that they, as well, knew she was theirs.
“You have pushed away that sense of yourself as a thing connected. I am not certain why.”
Because she had hurt them through that bond, and in so doing, learned the truth of why she was the way she was. She was no rat; she was a scavenger of souls. Their connection to her spelled a kind of danger; anyone’s connection to her spelled a kind of danger. The more accustomed she was to a soul, the easier it was to touch.
“Not just to them, but to everything,” it informed her, as if reading her mind. The statue folded its arms and released the magic, letting it dissipate. “I do not know why, but I am willing to help you discover the answer.”
Ren stared down at the rat in her lap. Without the sensation filtered through Phoebe, Ren was left with just the knowledge of rats in the walls, waiting for her. Thinking their own ratty thoughts, contemplating dinner, but there if she needed them. Was she there if they needed her? The absence of the knowledge of trust left only guilt in its wake. She glanced up at the bizarre and, frankly, creepy statue.
“It can’t hurt,” she said, finally.
“It might,” the statue told her. “Emotionally. Pain like the setting of a bone.”
Ren laughed, a hollow sound. “Better than leaving it broken.”
“Very so.”
“I’m Ren, by th’ way. Not sure I said.”
“I am called Taus,” they said, and Ren nodded, reaching out a hand, which was clasped between two cool, marble hands, ball-joints pressing against her skin.
“See y’next week, Taus.”
The following 4 users Like SolitareLee's post: Distopian, liarliaronapyre, Tindome, Viala
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 03-27-2017, 08:15 AM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 03-27-2017, 08:25 AM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 03-27-2017, 08:30 AM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 03-27-2017, 08:32 AM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 03-27-2017, 08:55 AM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 03-29-2017, 01:45 AM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 03-30-2017, 12:05 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 03-31-2017, 01:41 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 04-07-2017, 04:30 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 04-12-2017, 02:11 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 04-18-2017, 08:52 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 05-23-2017, 09:05 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 06-16-2017, 02:16 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 06-16-2017, 05:57 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 06-16-2017, 06:35 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 06-25-2017, 06:06 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 07-04-2017, 04:42 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 10-18-2017, 09:29 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 11-09-2017, 08:03 AM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 01-06-2019, 09:02 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 03-14-2019, 03:35 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 10-27-2019, 08:28 AM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 11-11-2019, 08:12 AM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 11-14-2019, 02:00 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 11-17-2019, 11:11 AM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 12-29-2019, 12:40 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 01-12-2020, 12:56 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 01-20-2020, 04:05 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 02-08-2020, 10:10 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 02-10-2020, 10:01 PM
RE: Storytime [Read Only] - by SolitareLee - 11-01-2020, 01:52 PM