For hours, Eddie pretends he doesn’t know where he is going. The city streets are full with voices of lovers and of lonely people. As he walks, Eddie hears passion and laughter and life, and none of it is meant for him.
For him, there is nothing.
Like a magnet, he closes in on the place with stained glass and knotted wood and cold brick. Our Lady of Saints.
The nave is empty and disconcertingly austere; the scent of incense hangs heavy in the air, clinging to his hair and his skin in a way that is suffocating.
He shifts his gaze to the cross, sinking in a crumbled motion to his knees, his body emaciated and broken. Even in his trembling hands, he prays, bowing his head, baring himself to what he plans to wrought, and to add another sin to the list of things for which he has to repent.
Seeking forgiveness, an answer.
A touch of absolution, a touch of divinity.
And for a solitary, devastating moment, he believes he is rewarded when a phantom touch brushes over his shoulder. But the touch continues to stretch and doesn’t stop, encompassing and violating. Eddie’s prayers fall deaf, a rush of panic overtakes him, and he’s paralyzed. Terror winds a sticky ribbon around his heart and the air cuts with his scream, until an otherworldly being of the night descends upon him, bubbling and filing his empty throat, gagging him. It coats his eyes with tar, soaking up the tears welling in them, and he’s blind.
A demon?!, he thinks, frantic and pleading. A creature made to destroy him and swallow him whole.
In the late evening, the moonshine glints through the glass windows; emerald greens, cerulean blues, and honeyed ambers bath the floor in a jewel-hued glow.
Now, it’s a room of darkness.
Black of ink and the red of blood. A Rorschach blot spilling and intermingling as their physicality and spirit mesh and are set ablaze.
The creature’s liquid body flows through the arid desert of his own, watering the parts of him that have grown desiccated, and blooming beneath the ruin. Moving swiftly through burning vessels, its matter infuses with each of his limbs and appendages and cells, and he can feel it all and everywhere.
Shivers wracking in his nerves, Eddie concedes to the oblivion, succumbing his fate. Seeing no reason to continue struggling.
Then there are images.
Lingering, borrowed memories of pain and betrayal and anger.
A hallowing voice desperately beckons him in his mind, an echoing call washing out his head in an ocean of loneliness. It reaches out to him, begging, and Eddie freezes, wills himself a few seconds to listen and comprehend. He’s startled to find that he can still breathe, no major injuries to take account for, even with the thick spike of fear running hotly through his throat.
The creature opens itself, psychically.
There is wordless agony in and amongst disconnected, unheard words, and Eddie’s own abdomen coils in reflex.
He recognizes this agony. And the wicked person who subjected them both to it.
Instantly, he riles in resentment and allows the hatred to fester and boil on its haunches. He wants, thirsts for their tormentor’s condemnation. To make him suffer as they have.
Eddie goes pliant; already, their thoughts are starting to turn, to connection, to understanding.
And suddenly, the twin visions of the two of them, arm in arm, heart in heart, are speaking of accommodations and agreements and promises.
He accepts, touched by the creature’s blight so similar to his own. No longer will they be denied. Not when they are together, inextricably entwined.
The creature’s–the Other’s–gratitude is offered silently, without words, and it’s sinking into his flesh again. It’s easier to endure this time; they’re much better acquainted.
The Other reorients its mass to mold with his, structuring itself to form a new, mutual identity. Nails rupture from their beds and sharpen into points. Teeth shapes into a bear-trap. His vision and senses clear, crystallizes. He tastes adrenaline; new-found vigor buds and pulses into his muscles.
A portrait of harmonious pieces composed into something supernatural. They drag their sluiced, barbed tongue over jagged fangs, a grin stretches and mangles across their monstrous face.
Basking in their shared vengeance, fury, and spite, they step out into the light of their future.
Listening to the night, life courses through them with a breathless flush. They let that vitality strengthen them, making them run faster and jump farther, taking to the rooftops for the simple joy of doing so.
Eddie has never felt so powerful. Beastly.
@symbruary Day 23 - Monster