Fear, Through the Eyes of Madness [Ele]

[wimdy]

Faint white figures paint my sleep.
Please don't tell my secrets... Keep the hidden.

Fear. All I know is fear. In my room, I'm in a safety bubble of self-confinement. I close myself off from the world beyond my doors and refuse to assimilate to their ways. I can't. I've got so little of my left now that I can't afford to let myself go anymore. It's bad enough trying to hold on to my sanity when the night falls and tempting whispers of the past swirl in my head. My safety bubble is a cage, but it is the lesser of two evils. I try not to face the greater of the two at any cost. However, there are times when it cannot be helped.

Like now.

"I don't want this! I don't want this! Let me go, please just let me go!" I scream, thrashing as I'm pulled mercilessly through the bleak hallways. My bare feet have got friction burns from my attempted resistance, but it seems it's doing nothing to deter the brutes dragging me down the hall. I jerk my arms harshly and throw my weight backwards, crashing into a wall with a quiet thump. My throat lets loose an involuntary groan at the collision before I'm being hauled away from the wall and back down the corridor. My body aches all over as I'm jerked left and right and pulled forward sharply as my body tries to wriggle away from the prying hands again.

I'm a mess. I can't see myself, but I know it. My hair is wild and my face is streaked with tears. I'm in a baggy old grey sweater that hangs like a giant sack over my frail frame and a pair of grey sweatpants. I haven't eaten for fifteen days and it has definitely taken a toll on my strength. I have none. Sleep has evaded my grasp for four nights straight, my mind pausing in the haze of confusion between waking and dreams. On those nights, I listen to the voices of my parents from another room, desperate to wake up and see them but knowing they won't be there. They're never there anymore. They always hide just out of sight.

A door opens down the corridor and I'm quickly ushered into a waiting room and away from the curious stares of the outside world of District 13. I continue to hear the whispers even after the door is shut and I'm lead to a chair. The hands holding my wrists are gone and I immediately act upon the rush of freedom, scrambling away from the two men and stumbling over a chair to huddle in the corner of the small room. Their sympathetic eyes are trained on me as I collapse against the wall, eyes wide and breathing labored as I try to keep myself upright. It's a hopeless cause and before I know it I'm toppled over on my hands and knees as my body continues to quake with panicked tremors. My stomach turns and I dry heave the nothingness my body has to regurgitate. A whimper trembles past my lips as I try to fight off a second wave of fruitless purging.

Everyday, I wish I hadn't come to this. I wish I was still that little girl I see in a dream, laughing and playing and free. If only that girl still existed, then maybe everything would be okay. But she isn't and it's not. I'm trapped by my own walls, boxed in by my hysteria, and secluded in my own self-delusions. I can't walk through the halls without feeling my skin crawl in revulsion that I'm still able to do such a simple action. I can't eat without becoming sick at the thought of my mother and brother dying in an ambush I survived. I can't do anything without collapsing in on myself and blocking the world out. I struggle to get out of bed daily to walk the seven steps to the shower, the six steps to the wardrobe, and the four steps back to my bed. Everything is a fight and I'm simply running out of the energy needed to continue. I'm afraid of the day I'll wake up and not be able to make those steps. Maybe that day will be soon.

In a pain that buckles out your knees,
Could you stop this if I plead?

[/i][/color][/center]

Lyrics: Blood Red Summer by Coheed and Cambria[/size]

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing

You were ready and waiting this morning when they came to get you from your new den. It's the one that you share with the tall boy that smells like smoke, which you don't know if you like, and he smells like food sometimes which you do like. Around your neck is a colour, which he put on you when you first came to live with him because then he could catch you around the neck when you tried to run and find the outside. You've never been in a giant den with so many rooms before and it's kind of scary. Around your neck today there is a note saying, "No need to return." When they got you, the guys who wear the clodes read it and did that eye rolly thing. The tall one, George, pat you on the head and told you something in a sweet voice, and the other beckoned you onto a trot.

Last time when you ran, they got sad at you so now you just walk between them, sniffing the air and sometimes yipping at people. Once, you found a bug and put it in your pocket to eat later, and a little girl laughed at you. You never heard laughing before, and it made you bark back at her until her mother took her away and you were left alone with just a bug. Tall gangly smokey smell boy sometimes takes you for walks and when you eat bugs he gets angry, so now you just save them for later, and eat them when he doesn't see. It's assumed by you that no one else likes to see you eat bugs either. Happily, you walk between the manbeasts, although you know that you're going back to the guy who asks you things, and then tries to teach you words. That's odd to you because you're the one who makes sense.

They drop you at the usual room and then lock the door so that you'll stay, because stay means good, and then you get treats later. Today something seems different in the room however, and you survey it, climbing onto a chair, kneeling on it with bare feet, the cuffs of your jean pants grazing the bottom, making a ruffly noise. Standing on the chair, you can see the whole room, and so you see a huddled form in the corner, making snuffing sounds. The general feeling that you notice in the air is terror and a decaying of happiness. That sweet sound that came from a wolf you knew once when they were dying slowly of a wound and they knew that death was coming for them. So then the pack leader had torn out their throat for them, and that was how it always went with that feeling, nothing could be done.

But this one is different. Because this one has long dark hair the colour of the sky at night, like you remembered it. There is no smell of blood in the air, only the musty smell of unwashed body, and sweat. And that smell is odd because you don't normally smell it on a girl. You decide to get closer, so you crawl over the rows of chairs on the carpeted floor, until you are staring down at the arched back of a feminine. You can tell it's a girl because the hair length, like how long your hair sometimes got to be, and the way her curled hands are small and delicate. It's entrancing., because you can see the way her body moves up and down with her breathing, yet it's all ragged, and the sound and smell of despair is so mighty now that it wants to bowl you over.

And her face is not in your view because it's faced to the floor, but you can just tell that it'll be beautiful. So carefully, you roll onto the ground with a soft thud, and part her curtain of hair. it's thick and luxurious, but messy like your own when you wake up in the morning, and before tall smelly smoke boy brushes it to the side. Carefully, you slide your head into the free space, until you look up into dark eyes and a tear streaked face. It's so pretty that your heart stops, and your eyes widen up with the grin the spreads across your face. As oft sound builds in your throat, like a coo. It's reminiscent of what your mother made when salt fled from your eyes and down your face as well. It's meant to calm and give a persona better feeling. And as you make the sound, you take a strand of her hair, and smell it, shutting your eyes in the delight of the faded smell of the night and the sun dancing across the tendrils like a broken ballet.

[wimdy]

I'm dead to the world as I cry, ignoring everything around me as I let my fears and tears splash upon the floor. My breathing is cut off with large choked sobs and desperate hiccups, but I can hardly control it. Without a thought, I let my eyes shut and close out the blurry images before me as my mind tries to right itself. There's soft singing somewhere, but I've grown accustomed to differentiating what is real from what is not. My mother isn't singing me a song to comfort me after my rabbit died. She's not there at all. She hasn't been in a long time. I know this, but there's something in me that refuses to accept the harsh reality that is life. There is no going back to those days of blissful ignorance and peace. It will never be the same. No matter mow hard I try to convince myself to move on, there's something holding my back, something drawing me into my father's nonexistent arms as I drift to sleep. I hear his words trying to lull me into peace, but his words are false as well. He's the same as my mother. A shade. However, another sound breaks through the barrier, soft and close by. I open my eyes, not expecting what is before me.

Wide, curious eyes stare up at me, a grin growing on plump lips. He's too close for comfort, yet I can't tell myself to pull away. Those eyes have already got me locked it, shutting off ever possible reaction my brain was trying to force me into doing.. A shaky breath trembles out my lips as he coos, the quiet sound both soothing and unnerving me as he reaches out to finger my hair and guide it to his nose. I can't even question it. There's something utterly simple about the gesture and so pure that it catches me off guard and knocks the air out of my lungs. I can't breathe or think or move. Why can't I move? A lingering tear drops, hitting his cheek softly and rolling across the smooth skin. The spell is broken as he closes his eyes, breaking that silent link and setting me free again.

I regain my senses in an instant, pushing myself away from his form quickly. There's hardly any room for me to move in the corner, leaving me with my back pressed flush against one of the walls with my knees bent up to my chest as if they'll protect me from the world. It's only now that I can feel how fast my heart is racing, thumping wildly in my chest as I try to slow my breathing from its erratic pace. My stomach stops churning, but my body is still shaking in anxiety. Every fiber of my being is screaming run, run!, but I know there's no use in even trying. My body is spent from the struggle and at this point, I don't think my limbs could carry my weight no matter how light I am. Then again, I'm not so sure I want to...

Something about this boy is captivating. There's a childish innocence, a curiosity unblocked by the world. I'm not sure what it is, but even now as I sit quaking against the wall, I can't bring myself to look away from him. I'm a silent observer in his world. It has to be his world we're in because I'm completely out of my element. However, there's something almost comforting in this foreignness, in his strangeness. The bleak grey walls and gene-pool driven doctors and judgemental citizens of a runaway's refuge have nothing on the gentle concern of the boy before me.

My hands are twitching inside my knitted sweater as I lift them to wipe at my face, trying to return myself to some semblance of normality. The tears are gone, but they've left tracks and puffy eyes behind. I can tell. I've spent one too many nights crying over past memories that it's become impossible for me not to know. I look like a trainwreck waiting to happen, just a few stops short of losing it altogether. My sweater is hanging off of one of my shoulders and my sweatpants are twisted and the soles of my feet feel like someone went at them with sandpaper. My former Capitolite neighbors would be ashamed. My parents would be worried. I, however, can't bring myself to care. Based on the track my life is on, there's no doubt I'll be derailed sometime soon.

[/justify]

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing

Rain hits your face, and you open your eyes in surprise, not expecting rain inside of the den. Maybe it's leaking. In which case, you should quickly get some leaves and cover it to stop that, because that could be dangerous in the spring time floods. But as your mind runs away with how to fix the leak, you realize that the leak came from the girl and not the roof of the den. And it makes you sad, as you realize that this girl is in so much pain that the water can't even stay in her body and she leaks from her sadness. You have leaked before, when your pack fell apart, but you knew it was coing. This girl was surprised by her sorrow, by her grief. And for the first time in a long time you frown because you understand, not because you are angry, or confused, but because you know pain, and this girl creature has it.

Your reflexes send you reeling back across the room as she backs away from you. Everything is a flurry of movement until you settle gracefully on the plastic arm of a chair, balanced on the balls of your feet. The girl thing is backed against the opposite wall, about two of your body lengths away. Remaining silent, she isn't a threat so you don't growl or yip, you study her more. She's small and malnourished. Most likely not a good addition to your pack of two. (Smelly smokey gangly tall thing and you) and she looks rather weak. If you were still out in the woods and you came across a wolf like that, father would have snapped it's neck and put it out of it's misery. But you don't want to snap her neck, because it's pretty, the way she stares with wide eyes, like that on the prey you sometimes helped to catch and eat. Dark with knowledge, and so sad.

Carefully, and slowly, you place your front paw on the ground. When she doesn't react, you climb fully onto the ground, and inch forward. When she lifts her clodes to wipe her eyes, you scuttle forward rather stealthily. All the salty water that is coming from her eyes continues to fall as if she can't help it. Carefully, you reach out, moving closer, and swipe your thumb pad across her cheek, stealing her sorrow. Carefully, you taste the sad, sticking your tongue out to lick the tear from your thumb. It tastes like water and skin, and it's a lovely mixture of dark light and mirrory water reflections. Blinking slowly, you move your face closer and closer to the girl face, determinedly closing her in, even without really meaning to. You lower your head and sniff all up and down her arm, until you reach her small hand, where you proceed to slowly raise your gaze to her eyes again.

Her eyes make you feel comfortable even when they are so sad. Maybe it's because they are shaped like your own, and when you sit there in front of her it doesn't feel so lonely anymore. You thought that you'd be so alone and scared without your pack, but now everyone in the new den is your pack, and you have to watch out for them all. Obviously none of them are competent enough to be pack leader, especially when the territory was free for the taking when you got here. No one had marked anything. They are shaped like almonds and like the water drops that the scruffy beard man likes to show you until you say words to him. It reminds you of eyes that you sometimes think you can remember but never seem to be able to grasp at. And they are dark and sad like a vast cavern, a mystery.

Lifting your paw with the long smooth fingers ending in half moon crescent nails, you place it on your chest. Even though on your soft leather collar, tall gangly boy has also put a medal that says your name in slanty language letters, you tell her your's anyway, carefully sounding out each part like the man with the face hair and glasses taught you to. "Pear-a-grin." Your voice is soft and cool, and still tends to surprise you when it makes the sounds like the man beasts do. Uncertainly, you cock your head to the side, and reach out. Her fur is all slanty, and that bothers you, because her bare shoulder must be cold. So carefully, you pull her clodes back up so it rests on her neck like it ought to.

[wimdy]

His sudden movement away from me startles me, drawing a strangled whimper from my throat as I tighten my arms around myself. Now it's his turn to study me, it seems. He watches, carefully, his eyes traveling across my thin body and shaking form slowly. I can practically feel his gaze catching on the bones barely covered by skin and studying the dull hue of my skin. His gaze is back on mine, even and testing as he lowers himself back onto the floor. I do nothing to stop it. I can do nothing to stop it. Within seconds, he's back inside my bubble and bursting it open, leaving me vulnerable and cornered without a chance.

Skin brushes skin for a moment, a feather light touch. It's just enough to send a tremor through my body, my mind trying to connect the dots between what is real and what is not. There's something sad in his eyes when he lifts his thumb to his mouth and for a moment I'm clueless as to what it is. Pity. There's something akin to sorrow in his eyes, but it's not for himself. It's for me. That in and of itself is enough to renew my tears, the water sliding down my cheeks slowly but surely. Genuine concern. Something I haven't seen in days, weeks, months. I've lost track of the time. However, that flicker of emotion in his eyes is enough to set me on edge, my heart thumping so loudly that I'm sure he must hear it. Falsified pity had been showered on me for so long that seeing the real thing was like drinking water after traveling through a barren desert. Without pause, he's close again, invading my space and boxing me in, but I make no move. I watch him mutely as he smells me and pronounces his name slowly, letting my eyes flutter shut for a moment at the low, dulcet sound of his voice.

"Peregrine," I murmur quietly, a hesitant hand reaching out to touch him, make sure he's real. I falter, caught between the divide. If my hand strikes the warm skin, he's real. He's real and too close and alive. He's genuine. If I keep my curiosity at bay, I'll never know if he's just a sad delusion, a figment of my own sorrow and confliction. But he had touched me, hadn't he? Just slight brushes against skin and hair and fabric, but it was real, wasn't it? Were the arms rocking me to sleep at night real them too? When I reached out to touch them, they'd dissipate and sink back into the dark recesses of my mind, waiting to attach themselves to my weakness again while at my most vulnerable. I vacillate, unwilling to let him be just a creation of my mind and unworthy to have him be a real boy. There are time when I let myself fall into the memories or dreamscapes my mind decides to put me in. They're easier to deal with than the real world. For the moment, they defuse the pain of loss and isolation. The problem is, I don't want this to be fake. I want this to be real, even just this once.

Again, my hand reached out tentatively towards the boy- Peregrine- as my arm shakes with the effort. My fingers brush just slightly over his cheek, the slight contact sending a shiver up my spine. I retract my hand quickly, tucking it against my stomach and curling into myself tighter. My eyes are just barely peaking at him from behind my knees and underneath my mess of hair. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry as I look down and away from his gaze. It haunts me even without seeing it, the steady stare sending my heart pumping faster for no reason. I don't understand my own reaction to this real boy before me. Real. Real. The air flutters out of my lungs unevenly as I look back up into his almond shaped eyes again.

"Peregrine..." I whisper, breathing in shallowly and looking at him with wide eyes. His hand brushes my shoulder as he secures my sweater atop my shoulder again. My hand moves of its own accord, reaching up to brush my fingers against his own. For a moment, my body stills and my shaking ceases. I look up into his eyes quickly before letting my hand drop again and trying to hide my burning face behind my hair and knees again. It doesn't take a genius to know that I'm blushing madly, mostly in mortification of what I'd done. No matter how desperate I was for his compassion, I shouldn't have done that. It was out of life. I just barely flicker my eyes up to meet his for a moment before looking back down. "J-Juni-Juniper."

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing

She's the type of beautiful that makes you want to bundle her up in your arms and carry you back to your den. If only to keep her safe from the other beasts of the District because she's so sad and broken like a bird you saw fluttering on the ground once, wings hitting the ground in a half-hearted struggle as it died. You don't want this one to die though. If it were possible to go back and save all the broken birds, you'd clip their wings and give it the she beast because it looked like she really needed them. You could draw a map of constellations backwards and it would never be so pretty, yet so broken and misconstrued as her. She was a bird.

Your breath shutters in a weird way when she brushes her hand against your skin. Her touch is like molten rock it does things, burns you up. you can feel your skin burning like it's been eaten at by acid, but it's odd because it's still there. Maybe it's healing acid then because damn it's more painfully beautiful than anything you've ever felt before. And suddenly you know why you don't mind being down inside this big den with the beasts instead of up on land under sky with wolves where you belong. It's because you've been craving this, this touch. That familiar tug when you reached a certain age calling for you to find yourself a mate and have pups is in charge of your heartstrings right now, as she brushes her paw across your own like a silent greeting.

But you particularly like the way her lips form around your name. It won't ever be the same now if someone else says it because the way she does makes it sound safe and beautiful. She says it again and again, and you shut your eyes, feeling so much peace at the way she says it that you almost relax your weight against her if you weren't so afraid of crushing her. And then she tells you her's. Juniper. Junipers shouldn't be sad, instinct tells you happily. They ought to be happy, Junipers are happy things. You've never seen nor heard of a juniper in your life, but that doesn't even matter because dammit, you just know, as sure as Peregrines are meant to run free, Junipers are meant to laugh until they cry, not cry until they laugh.

You lean forward slowly, until your lips almost touch her ear, and then you whisper, "Juniper." So soft it's like a snowfall forming a blanket so slowly that the Earth doesn't realize it's covered. She's always hiding it seems with this particular beast, but that's alright, you can wait. You're used to stalking prey and sitting in the night for hours, eyes wide and watching for movement. She's reminiscent of a dear that you stalked once. You felt sad to catch her and let her fly off again, even if it meant you went hungry that night. But something about Juniper makes you want to keep your arms planted against the wall, and keep her safe from those other beasts that come out. But you hate the way her eyes don't look at you because they are always looking at her lap.

Carefully, you take her chin in her palm, and lift her face back up, the way mom would when she was about to wash it. you don't want to wash it, you just want to look into the inkiness of her pupils, and find where her hurt is so that you can lick the wound clean and save her. But as you lift and lean in, studying, the men who always bring you here come back. They must have not liked the way you were protecting her, maybe they were jealous because immediately they cross the room and pull you away, catching at your arms so that you can't scratch, and holding your legs away from you.

Still, in rage, you snarl and yip, trying to wiggle free, claws raking against skin, drawing blood. You must protect the bird at all costs. They drag you away to the opposite end of the room, holding your arms against the wall, wrists apart so that you cannot scratch. You try to bite them, your teeth making wild clicking noises as you snarl in anger and bark at them, but they do not let you go. You howl at them as one holds you locked, and the other scowls goodnaturedly and holds a paw to they arm.

"Sorry Miss," they say to your bird, "He grew up in the wild, best to stay away, he can really hurt a person."

[wimdy]

So close, so very close. There are no personal boundaries between us as he draws in close. Even without looking, I can feel him staring at me, intently studying and unwilling to look away. My hair is the only barrier left, a curtain drawn between two worlds. I've already seen the other side, but I don't know if I can possibly stand on that stage on which my knees buckle and my lungs shrivel up and my heart stops thumping in my chest. No, the possibilities of what could go wrong send my mind reeling and my heart speeds up in sudden panic. I can't take more mistakes. I can't afford another loss, another heartache, another reason to be guilty and worthless and withered. I already have plenty.

Warm, moist air mingles with my hair and clings to my ear, the silence reverberating in the wake of his whisper. A slow burning tingles across my skin, rolling like desperate ocean waves through my body. I'm drowning in the cool heat of it, my heart thrumming giddily as my lungs flutter and try to breathe in air. There's only water, only that burn. I'd happily drown a thousand times over if it felt like this. I'm dizzy from the intensity of it, my breathing coming in short, shallow puffs. His hand on my chin sends sparks straight to my heart, a violent shudder wracking my body. I find myself looking into those dark, deep eyes for only a moment before his mystery is ripped away and across the room. It takes me a moment to understand what's going on before my body tries to react.

My arms and legs work together begrudgingly to force my weak body back to my feet, my stick-like legs quaking at the effort and collapsing out from under me within moments. I close my eyes and wait for the crash, the inevitable pain, but only feel myself thud against another body that holds me upright. My eyes snap open and I immediately look up at my savior, still shaking in the older doctor's arms. He smiles at me sadly and helps to hoist me up against him, letting my body relax against his side as he props me up. My face flushes red in embarrassment, my body crawling with disgust as I take his wordless offer of assistance. A particularly fierce growl draws my attention back to Peregrine, his wild eyes darting between the doctors and me as he struggles against the restraint.

"Sorry Miss. He grew up in the wild. Best to stay away. He can really hurt a person."

Wild? Hurt someone? It seems like the farthest thing from the truth in my eyes. To imagine him hurting anyone is like imagining snow in summer. His eyes betray his emotions so openly and completely that I feel as if he's speaking even without the complex syllables of speech. Not once had I seen hostility in any way. Quite the opposite. There was a gentle compassion and innocent curiosity and a fierce protectiveness. I see that in his eyes now as he snarls and tries to wriggle his way out of the hold the other doctor has on him. His eyes catch mine and I feel my lungs burst into flames. My knees buckle again and I fall against the doctor more heavily, unable to look away from those eyes that have me so ensnared beyond even the slightest hope, the slightest want for freedom. I'm caged like a bird. I don't even want to fly away if it means feeling this sharp burn and soothing chill of emotion. That flash of worry and jealousy in his eyes is more thrilling, more frightening, that I thought it would have been.

However, it seems like my body doesn't care what my mind has to think. I take a tentative step forward, my legs wobbling slightly as I cautiously detach myself from the doctor and begin my way over to the panicked boy. It takes all of my concentration to keep myself upright, walking slowly and unsurely across the room. My legs have apparently decided they'd had enough of straining to keep my malnourished body upright and collapse beneath me, sending me to the floor in a heap. It hardly makes a sound. Proof that I am skin and bones and not much else but a broken soul. A pair of arms lifts me suddenly, cradling me against their body as I'm picked up effortlessly. The doctor is looking at my pitifully again, saying something about how I don't eat enough and how I'm wasting away and how I need to take care of myself more. I'm not listening however. My eyes are still trained on Peregrine, one of my arms falling to reach out to him. Without warning, we turn swiftly and start in the direction of an adjoined room.

I don't want to go in that room. I don't want to waste hours of my life asking the same questions over and over. I don't want to leave. My body squirms in the arms of the doctor, causing him to pause to adjust me momentarily before continuing. It seemed like I had hardly any strength left in my body, but my limbs thrash fiercely as I'm carried away, striking the doctor several times as he struggles to keep me safely balanced in his arms.

"N-No! P-Pere-Peregrine, I-"

"He's an animal, Juniper. Now, stop moving!"

And for the first time in a while, I follow the instinct which my body has instilled in me but long ignored; fight.

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing

Snarling you scratch, claw and bite, teeth clicking at the air, oh you really do look like a savage wolf, maybe momma would be proud. But this isn't right, they're keeping you from her. They only did this once before when you were in the den without the smelly smoke boy, and another person came into your den. They smelled like outside, stank of grass and leaves. It was all you could do not to eat them alive in your haste to smell them, and to smell like them. But the one who smelled of outside screamed, and the beasts came rushing in to haunt you. They took you and pushed you into the corner, and there had been pain, then everything went dark until you woke up and there was no one else there. They left you all alone, the taste of the outside still resting like a forgotten song on your lips.

You don't want it all to go dark again, you want your bird. This time you're really angry as you wrestle with the man you scratched only moments before. Juniper, Juniper, Juniper, plays across your skin like a heartbeat. You've spent your life fighting and scratching to survive. Have spent countless days wrestling with your brothers and sisters, you win almost too easily against him. Especially since he doesn't have his stupid pointy make the lights go out and then ploof, hours later you wake up stick. But by the time you finish with him, Juniper is already gone out the other door, carried away by the stupid other man while you weren't looking. As you scramble around in confusion, the other door closes with a resounding thud, and you are alone again, as if no one else was ever there. The silence is nearly unbearable.

A soft whimper exits your mouth in haste, and immediately you back up against the wall. You don't like this, being alone. You're used to sleeping under a whole pile of wolves, or hearing smelly smoke boy snoring after he grumbles at you for some time about this or that. This time you're feeling that anxiety thing where you start drooling in fear too because they have her, and they aren't supposed to have her. You've marked that she is your's now. Stupid beasts, didn't they see the way you cornered her? It's like you've been dumped in an extremely backwards land where everyone walks on only two feet and they wear clodes on their fur. But it's not a like, because you havve, and damn, that's scary. For a moment, you wish you were under the sky again and you were with your momma and dad. But momma died, and dad has probably too, that's something you've been too afraid to admit.

All you have is this odd little den that isn't really little, smoky smell boy who likes to sneer at you and make odd little faces, and now your bird. Well those stupid beasts are even stupider than they first appeared if they think you're just going to take that. So letting out a loud howl in anger, you dart across the room and smash your full force into the door they took juniper through. You bounce back with a loud thud, but it doesn't matter because you can try and try and try until it opens. You're excellent at trying, smelly smoke boy has told you that many times when you bared your teeth at him as he scowled. What they don't know is that you are really good at achieving as well. So running backwards, you howl again, and bang at the door, bruises forming and skin scraping as you hit it, again and again. You won't give up though.

Between running back and forth, you scrape at under the door and along the sides, long nails catching at the wooden frame until chunks come loose. Because you can and will dig yourself to her. You're going to reach her, your Juniper. because she's your's and you're mad as hell. It takes a madman to love, and a madman to accomplish. Darling you're just right for the job it seems. You howl again, running at the door, body collapsing as bones thwack and make the sounds they do when you hit them weird. But you'll limp forward again and again, no one takes from you what you don't want taken. You are a pack leader, like your father, and his father before him. You. Will. Save. Her.

Your Juniper.

[wimdy]

Sterile white walls surround me as the doctor carries me through the door. It smells like antiseptic and clean. It smells to much of a hospital. I'm sick and tired of hospitals and beds and medication and I just want to be left in peace. My limbs flare out into the air, hitting walls and the doctor alike in my fit of struggle, but every thrash leaves me more drained than before. Each strike makes my bones quake and my muscles waver. Eventually, I can't force my body to do anything. My skin is crawling and my bones throb with the dull pain of malnutrition. Tears leak down my face as pure and utter exhaustion drives deep into my core, my body trying to resist the lull of sleep.

The doctor settles me atop an examination counter, lying me back gently as my body shakes against the chill of the surface. Even shivering takes a toll on me, my eyes drooping suddenly as my head rolls to stare at the door from behind my lids. I exhale shakily, trying to gather what little strength my body might still have left as the doctor bustles about in an adjoined office. With all that I can muster, I roll myself over the edge of the counter, landing on the linoleum floor with a resounding smack. My body is throbbing in pain, but I ignore the discomfort in favor of trying to slide my way toward the door. My sweat-damp hands slip across the surface clumsily, trying to make any kind of progress across the short distance I wish to cover. I don't get far before the doctor is picking me up again and putting me on the counter once more, his eyes glassy with anger and his mouth set in a deep frown that sends wrinkles webbing across his face in a fine network.

"Miss Bay, I must request that you stop moving immediately. Your body cannot take any more physical exertion without proper nourishment, something it obviously lacks! Now, if you would please-"

"N-No! I want to see Peregrine!" I demand, my voice breaking in the middle of his name as the howling and whimper continues from the other side of the door. It's pitiful and it hurts, my heart thumping loudly at the inhuman noises ripping their way from the throat of the boy just beyond my sight. I sit up with effort, whining low in my throat when the doctor again tries to push me down. "Please, just open the door."

"Miss Bay, at the moment, that is not in your best interest. In fact, I'm quite certain that would be in your worst interest," he drawls, glaring distastefully at the door for a moment before returning his attention to me. He's got a clipboard in his hands, a pen tucked in between two fingers as he clicks it repeatedly. My eyes are drawn to it ticking like a clock or a bomb. I'm not sure which it really signals. However, I do know the questions that are bound to be coming my way. "Now, when is the last time you ate? Truthfully."

My tongue is ready to fling acidic words at him, but they stick in my throat and burn through me instead. Instead, I only manage a degraded whimper before pushing myself off of the counter. A hand is immediately on my upper arm, keeping me in place as my feet try to gain purchase on the sleek tiling. I resist regardless of the weariness in my bones, shoving hard at the doctor's chest. What I don't expect is for him to lose his balance and stumble backwards. My drained body reacts immediately, lunging to the door and grasping at the handle, fumbling with the lock for a moment before a light click signals that it is open. As if a switch has been flicked, my body finally gives up the fight to stay conscious as I fall to the floor amidst shouting and howling.

The door slips open. My eyes slip shut.

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing

All you know is that the door suddenly swings open and she's in your arms. You don't know how, or why, but she'd been delivered right to you, and the other beasts had left the far door open. They thought you were too enamored by the thing blocking she and you, your juniper. It doesn't even matter now though, because you have her, they have surrendered, she is your own. She has slipped off, they have done something to her. You hold her limp body in your arms, the ones she fell so gracefully into, like a shooting star you once saw slip across the night sky. Glancing up suddenly, you were surprised that the door opened so fast, you see the man from before and the time before struggling to his feet. Falling softly back into the moment, you growl angrily, shielding her in your arms.

Jumping up, so smoothly, you're a wolf and always will be one, you sling her onto your back and drop to all fours, breaking your way out of the room, shouting and loud coming in great clanging rings from behind you. You run, people stopping to stare as you tear around corners, thoughts intent on simply rescuing your damsel. She's beautiful, the scent of her washes you, filling you with something. It's called an 'emoshion,' you know, smoky smell boy called it that. Not quite sure where to go, you scramble along, hiding behind things when necessary. You can hear people coming for blocks, what with their trampy tramp boots. After a half hour of freaked out running, and a few minutes of stopping to mark your territory here and there, you find a little room down under that smokey smell boy brought you once when you wouldn't stop yowling at him.

Now you've been sitting her for a long time, staring at the body of a girl that you brought all the way down here. Her name is Juniper, and you know, deep down, that she is yours. You haven't peed on her yet, but that's okay, because father never peed on mommy. When you laid her down, her head lolled into your shoulder, and her breathing was quiet. It sounded like stars against your skin, and it was nice. Then she clung to your shirt, and snuggled in closer, muttering a name that wasn't your own. It made you uneasy, so you put her on your shirt, and stuck your sweater under her head. All the scars and bruised skin that you have open and shown for the world to see. There's a couple of new scratches too, but you're not quite sure how you got them. But it's okay, it's nice and warm beside the big old boiler that sits in the corner, and you like watching her sleep.

You sit in the doorway, alert in case someone comes down here and you have to take off again. Safety for her is your main concern, as you have no idea what they might do to her in that room. If what they do to you in there is any way to know, having her go through that is not what you want.She's so soft and fragile looking. You should have broken her neck t put her out of her misery, but you cannot. Even now, when you reach out and carefully brush her hair out of her face, there is nothing you can do but touch her only gently. It's weird, you're so unused to this gentle feeling, of wanting to protect, and you know you haven't felt it before. It's alien, and weird. A side effect of hanging out with the two-leggers.

As you shift slightly, you moan lowly, a jagged cut on your lower torso from wrestling with the beasts. Must have torn open further in your hasty retreat. It's bleeding slightly and thicker than it should be, but it doesn't bother you much. There's no other wolf here though to lick the wound clean for you, so that's slightly worrying. Someone needs to clean the ouch before it becomes an infection. But your Juniper sleeps, and leaving her seems like a very undesirable idea. So helplessly, you shrug your arms back, stretching and yawning. You place your hands behind your head, sitting still in the door frame and shut your eyes. You'll wake up at the slightest noise, she'll be safe.

[wimdy]

Everything is alive. The crowds are abuzz with new gossip and trend discussions and news about the games. It's not like the news is needed, though. They've got it broadcast on the sides of buildings and in shop windows and blaring through radio stations. Brightly colored people flock through the streets like clueless cattle, strutting from store to store and slaughtered for the expense of fashion. High pitched giggles and rough guffaws swarm through the air as another tribute falls to the strong alliance. It seems as if the Bros are dominating this year after all. Some alliances are just made to work. It won't be long before they fall apart though. Everything does. Sooner or later, everything crumbles to dust. In the end, everything will be mere wisps of what it once was.

My feet continue taking me forward, walking me down the so familiar path. It's been so long since I've seen Jester's jewelry store and Drallion's hair salon and all of the other neon shops. The colors flash and swirl and blend together until I'm talking in a technicolor haze of lights and sounds and emotions. Vague faces pass by quickly, each one biting at my memory but so lost to my mind. Who are all of these people? These faces? These beings? The shops are melted crayons and the road is a glitter trail left behind by masked faces. They fall and meld with the ground, becoming rainbow cobblestones to be stomped, to be forgotten. I swerve to the right just as another body falls, another being disappears. They're dropping like flies around me as the buildings begin to fracture and buckle under the weight of the lavish adornments atop them. I'm sprinting through a tunnel as fear encases my lungs and chokes me as tall skyscrapers crumble and splatter in heavy drops against the ground. By instinct, I dash home and inside and it is safe and warm and empty. I'm screaming against the blockade in my lungs as I crash into the stark whiteness of my room, taking the fifteen steps from the door to the bed and tumbling into the sterile sheets of unfamiliarity. Whispers crescendo into loud screeching and my mother is there screaming for me to run into the woods and it's all too real make it stop-

I blink wearily at the darkness around me, trying to get a grip on my reality as I try to separate the voices in my head from my own thoughts. The whispers are relentless but quiet and unclear. They're just enough to make a person go mad. My lips part to inhale oxygen greedily, the stone wall from my nightmare falling to pieces against the sudden shove of necessary air. The dead weight in my chest is still present, still pushing down like a mountain upon the fluff that is my body. If you can call this mass of sharp bones and flimsy skin fluff, that is. Once the weight has condensed into a heavy rock from a crushing mountain, I test my limits and slowly sit up. My head is dizzy from the change, but I'm able to hold myself reasonably well despite the previous events of the day. Sitting, after all of that, is quite an accomplishment.

I'm still fuzzy from my faint, unable to recall much else other than screaming and howling and falling. They're all jumbled together in one big pot in my head, sewing themselves together and becoming indistinguishable from one another. I furrow my eyebrows and glance around my, my eyes acclimating to the slightly lit room slowly. It's bare, but warm thanks to the boiler that rests inside of it. It smells slightly of smoke, so faintly so that I almost don't catch it. I shift, frowning in confusion at the material under my as I pick it up. A shirt? And a sweater? But where did these- My lungs empty in a quiet whoosh as I remember exactly what- who- made the howling noise. Peregrin, the wild boy. The one who was dangerous. The one who got too close.

My body aches as I turn away from the wall, each joint screaming in protest as I pivot. I bite my lip to keep in any noise as my eyes land upon the person by the door. He sleeps, his eyes shut tight and his head lolled to the side. He's so peaceful in that moment, despite the scars that litter his body and the new cuts that are covered over with dried blood. There's no gentle smile or savage howling. He slumbers, unawares of the world around him. There are no qualms, no problems to fix. There is only reprieve from the world. My arms stretches out in the tiny place, drawing nearer to him as I frown at the cuts on his pale skin. His eyelids flutter slightly as he shifts, his head rolling to the other side. My breath catches in my throat, an inkling of fear rising in my mind. What if they weren't lying? What if he really is dangerous? What if... What if? How could it ever be true? My hand lingers just above his skin for a moment longer before grazing across a scar on his collarbone. Without warning, his eyes blink open. And just like that, I am caged once more.

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing

The woods around you fill up with the sound of a chopper, a big flying bird that used to scour the world looking for you all over hen you were little. But now you hide under a tree, watching through the crevices as mother lies on top of you, her furry body completely still as she covers you from harm. There's a deep sense of peace working it's way through your bones and along your blood rivers, and you haven't felt this warmth in a long time. It's nice and comforting but it makes you sad like you've lost something at the same time and you're trying to find it once again. But hope seems kind of lost when you're buried in the belly of this great metal beastie and all you have for comfort is a collar saying you belong. but they don't belong with you.

Sometimes they taunt you with their wild beast words, and you don't bother explaining that you understand the words that they are saying, smelly smoke boy has been teaching you, but you just don't want to. Integration means letting go and you don't want to forget that you're not one of them, but a wolf. Still, in this girls features and the way she is it reminds you of something animalistic and it's beautiful, she's beautiful, that's why you're protecting her. You think that maybe if you could hold her in your arms always, you'd be okay with it. You don't know why, but you've always been a wolf of fancies even though decisions usually take some time with you. It doesn't help that this beastie has not only caught your fancy but also your eyes making them follow her wherever she moves.

You've been sleeping peacefully for an unknown amount of time now, but as soon as you feel a touch on your shoulder, your eyes flick open like you were never asleep, but you don't move. Wolves are naturally still beings although they can move when they want to, but you don't really want to move right now. She's so close, and she's touching you, you decide to to her explore you. She looks worried, maybe it's because your body is littered with scars and other debris of wolf and district life. But honestly you're the one that is worried about her. She's so thin, it looks like she could break, and you hope you didn't hurt her in your escape attempt. What f you accidentally bumped her pretty head when you lay her down on the ground? Is she stiff now from sleeping on the ground? It's not your fault that you panicked and you came here, you thought this would be good for hiding.

Now your hand runs through her hair and you inspect her, pulling her closer, lifting her into your lap so you are looking eye to eye. Even after all she's been through, she's so beautiful,like a broken mockinjay eggshell you found once Her voice is more pretty and more calling then one of those birds though, and you only hope she's safe. The cloth of her shirt brushes against your skin and the big open cut on your torso, so you flinch slightly, ignoring the pain of it because it's far less painful to have her so near to you. You let your hands wander through her entanglement, enjoying the silky feel of it, even though you can smell that she hasn't washed in a while. It doesn't bother you because underneath it you can smell the scent of forest and night sky that you really miss.

It makes you want to speak to her, so after a moment, you muster up your courage, pulling words out of the crevice that smoky smell boy stores them in every afternoon when he reads to you. Carefully, you open up your mouth, words flowing out in clear, smooth tones with a voice that doesn't really speak often but is trying to. Your consonants and syllables are accented like a little boy learning how to say words, but it's somehow right coming from your oh so innocent lips, "Arrre.....are you hurted? Junip? juniper?" Your hand stops on her heart, and you can hear it beating away, although it's light and feathery. Uncertainly, your face colours, knowing that you speaked the words all wrong, but you tried, and it counts because maybe you got the message across.

[wimdy]

There was a time when I'd ran through a forest with reckless abandon, panic spreading my body like wildfire and burning up every cell until the smoke filled my lungs and rendered me incapable of movement. Everything was dark then, the trees looming like guard towers overhead with their hawk inhabitants and their squirrel workers. The deep emeralds of the leaves and the rich chocolate browns of the bark and the pop of color from the wildflowers melded together into a swirl of thick, inky night. It was illuminated by small lanterns, the minuscule amount of light letting us retain our cover in the dense forest while still giving us enough clarity of vision in order to bypass trees in our paths and rocks in our footpath. Every step led me further from my life as a Capitolite and closer to my life as a District Thirteen refugee, my feet protesting to every move as we hurried along for fear of detection. Every movement we made left more clue for our pursuers; the crushed plants, the broken branches, the jostled rocks, the pressed footprints. It seemed as if with every gain, there came a greater sense of urgency, of possible loss, of fear. It turned out, in the end, that that's exactly what wound up happening. The stakes had been raised and we'd lost the bet. I see that forest in his eyes, the deep, dark pool keeping me on my toes as the consequences become more dire with each passing second.

My eyes stay locked with his as my hand ghosts across his torso, stopping to trace some of the more prominent scars and bruises. After a moment of skimming, I reach the most recent of his battle scars, one that he must have received while defending me, while saving me from the torture of treatments and questions and no results. Its red and raw looking, blood caked across it but fresh enough to smudge under the squishy pads of my fingertips. Seeing his scars, his markings of his past, I can't help the curiosity that bubbles up inside of me and fills me with questions that someday I will ask to know the answers to. Someday, think will change. Maybe I'll know the story behind the scar on his collarbone or why his doctor thinks he's so dangerous considering he lived in the woods.

An undignified squeak worms its way through me, the air in my lungs rushing out in the high-pitched sound as I'm suddenly pulled forward. Within seconds, I find myself cradled again his form, my hands planted solidly on his bony shoulders and my face just inches from his gentle gaze. Peregrine is impossibly close, his warmth rolling across his skin and sinking into me at the slightest contact. He's practically breathing into me with every little breath he exhales, stealing the air from me with every inhale. I feel faint and weary, but his arms hold me close, his hands running through my hair as if it were fine satin, pleasant to the touch and absolutely beautiful. I know that's not true. It's a rat's nest, if anything, tangles scattered within it and my scalp oily beyond propriety. I don't understand why he breathes me in as if he's unable to get enough of my scent, as if I'm wearing a fine fragrance of fancy. As we breathe in tandem, he twitches slightly, pain evading his face for a moment before being fought off with a dogged will to remain focused.

"Arrre....are you hurted? Junip? Juniper?"

A breath shudders out of my lungs, my heart skipping madly as his hand drops to press right above it, taking in ever beat and thump or the stressed organ. His voice is beautiful, the gentle concern laced into his words reminding me of a time when my mother would pick me up after I would trip and coddle me until I was giggling madly in her arms again. The memories are so strong and I fight off the growing wave of sorrow. I try to calm myself, shaking like a leave in the autumn wind as my legs try to keep me upright, hovering and pressed against him all at once as I attempt to maintain stability. My thighs are burning with the effort, all of my resources gone as I let myself slump against him a little more, his hand wrapping more firmly around my heart with every little centimeter. He's burrowing his way inside of me little by little, with every touch and word and noise and action he takes. I can feel my resolution crumble with each passing second, the extended leave of absence from the world having left me with a veiled and insatiable need for some kind of contact or compassion or anything but the sterility of my life. My breathing is labored, but easy. I feel lighter, whether that be my lack of energy or my abundance of joy, I can't be sure. I let myself be enveloped in his care, my defenses dropping and my longing to be cared for emerging from a deep hole of glitz and brightly colored Capitol lights.

"I'm... I'm alr-right, Peregrine," I breath, my face heating at how my voice wavers with fragility at the seemingly simple words. They're not simple because they're lies, utter lies with no truth behind them in the slightest. I am not alright. I'm a bag of brittle bones and bleached skin and haunted eyes. Everything hurts and it seems like there is nothing I can do to break myself out of the self-destructive cycle of indecision and hopelessness. No amount of threats nor pleading have snapped me out of my trance because it has felt as if there is nothing on the other side. There is nothing waiting for me should I take that leap and assimilate to the people around me, give in to their demands and their pleas and their needs for variation in the gene pool. Now, however, it seems there is a light. An innocent light that is warm and soft and slowly nurturing my forgotten will to live back into the present. The present is chaos and peace in harmony, the union of two people who have something the other needs and cannot continue without, even if we don't know what it is yet. At a second thought, I glance back down at the wound on his abdomen, my hand sliding to stroke his skin gently, hopefully soothingly as I frown worriedly at him.

"You're... you're hurt..."

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing

Carefully, you shake your head slowly. You're not hurt, not where it counts, not like where she is. You can almost taste her bitterness in the air around her, the sweet sadness that only adds to her heady perfume. she's a bird with wings so clipped that she may not ever fly again. But you can carry her, you know, she can ride on your back as you paw your way through this underground hovel and find the sun and moon again. You did flinch where she pressed her fingers against your latest physical hurt, sewing something into your seams until your emptiness is all that's left of a song you only half remember. Of nights spent hiding your head under trees from the flying monsters in the sky. Your heart swelled when you found the knowledge of her, and you smelled her for the first time, but it's not the same as the love notes she leaves on your skin with every careful touch. Even with the pain of ghosts cutting you open as she traces every scar and minor cut, you still want only her fingers on your skin ever again. no more doctors, and no more smelly smoke guy, just juniper. (Well, smelly smoke guy can touch you, but only if it's to be nice.)

So the pain is felt and noticed, noted even, but it's not really important while she's lying to you. She's not okay, you can feel it in the way her heart jumps along like a frightened rabbit. Every move she makes, so careful and dainty, so frail. Yeah, maybe it hurts, but it would hurt more not to have her this close. It's deeper than you thought at first too, and blood is weekly slipping out of the wound in thick streams, but you're pretty sure it's slowing. You're only sort of tired. That's normal though, you remember from before. When father was stabbed by the bones on the head beast, and he had to rest a lot. This isn't the same thing, you know. It doesn't matter, you're happiest here. you're happiest with Juniper, and you could let your blood slink it's way from you like the coward you're not all night to hold her like this in your arms.

You've never had a she beast, you note as you burrow your face into her neck, smelling her sweetness until you can't anymore because you need to exhale. She's beautiful and all you can do is stare. Is that so bad? Everyone is always looking away here, they don't know how to look, they've forgotten. You, on the other hand, have never known how to look away. So you stare, and you stare, drinking her in until she's all you can see. Dark dark eyes, hair and skin. The way you describe with your words and limited vocabulary would be reminiscent of a stick figure, but to you, to you she is the Mona Lisa. Smelly sticky boy always talks about her, or his Mona, in the shape of a boy who trips a lot and likes to feed you yummy things a lot. He's your friend, sometimes he takes you for walks. But that's Smelly stick boy's Mona, not your own. your own is pulled up against you, nice and tight, and you're warm.

So that's why when she says that you're hurt, you know that you are, but it's not her hurt. It's not her bone crushing, aching pain harvested somewhere in the autumn of her feet. It feels like a scratch on your body, not a scratch on your heart, so with a slow and steady tone, you softly say, "I'm fine, it'll heal." You trace your way up her neck with one long finger, while the other holds her on you, gently pulling her closer so the way you rest is like a puzzle piece and the perfect fit. For a moment, when you shut your eyes in a slow blink, you feel as happy as you did with your brothers and sisters under the moon. A sudden spark of joy in the love of the feeling revives you a tiny bit, and you stick your tongue out to lick behind her ear, in the way you used to for your sisters. But this is different because you don't want Juniper, your bird, for a sister.

You want her for her posture, and her way of blinking. You want her for the ways eh breathes, and the tone of her voice when she speaks. You want her for the soft question written somewhere behind her eyelids, and the careful grace of her elbows and kneecaps. You want her for the greeting found sewn to her marrow in a hidden way that you have to look for and the smile that you dug for, and bled for. Carefully, you draw back and lift her hand with your's until your palms press against each other. Quietly, you stare at her, searching carefully for the things you see plain on her face, clear as day.

"Hello."

[wimdy]

His wide eyes stare at me innocently as he shakes his head, an answer to my inquisition about his injuries. He's lying. "I'm fine, it'll heal." He's hurt and he's lying, staring at me with more concern than he should be able to possess. His hands are holding me securely against him and keeping me upright, the pads of his fingers tracing along my skin in search of any small hurt, any little injury. One of his fingers trails up my neck, my skin breaking into goosebumps at the light touch. I can't help but touch him back, my right hand trailing across his collarbone again before lifting to feather across his face; his gentle brow, his button nose, his fluttering eyelids, his rosy cheeks, and then his lips. My fingers linger there for only a moment before dropping back down to his chest. I don't know why he affects me this way, sewing up my wounds and dragging me into his embrace with every action he makes, no matter how simple.

There's a line somewhere I know will be crossed in time. I've never toed it before, the chalk drawn border between the past and the future, who I was and who I will be. I see it more clearly now than ever before. I've never been this close to it before and it frightens me, this boundary I've been aware of and avoided my whole life. It wasn't within my nature to test my boundaries growing up. I was forever the obedient and complacent daughter, ready to fill her role to her parents as dutifully as possible. Never in my life had I ever even thought of crossing the line, changing who I was and where my loyalties lied. I couldn't. I wouldn't. Now, however, as I find myself cradled in the wolf's den, snug against it's keeper and unable to move, I want to. The carefully laid blocks of my childhood innocence are wobbly after sustaining the weight of my being for so long and they'd be so easy to topple over, to crumble, to lay to waste. I want this more than anything, but there's still something in me that screams to stay away. It's so alluring, my heart beating fast at the mere thought of it, but my mind is resistant. I can hear my father so clearly in my head, whispering quietly into my consciousness. ("Juniper, you stay away from those boys. They're nothing but trouble. You have to stay my little girl forever, okay? You've got to keep yourself healthy and safe first. Always.")

I hadn't been ugly growing up. No, I'd been pretty, delicate. I wasn't bold or fashion forward, but I was simple. I wasn't without affections, but I'd never once given in to them. Not a single fiber of me had been interested. I wanted to stay as my father's perfect little girl forever, curled in his arms as he whispered tales of far off lands in my ears as I drifted into the darkness of my dreams. I wanted for him to keep me always. I wanted all of us to be together like that for the rest of our lives, the four of us. I wanted my father's gentle smiles and my mother's lulling songs and my brother's whiny complaints. Everything was supposed to remain the same as it always had been, only it wasn't. Not really. There came a time when I was shoved into growing up, heart pounding and eyes searching in the dark night as gunfire exploded around me. I'd been given no chance to adjust before my dream world was ripped away. Nothing had gone as I'd planned simply because another, bigger plan had already been set in motion. It's led me here, to the arms of a strange boy with wide eyes and a soothing murmur of muddled words that forced my heart into complacency, my body adjusting to fit into his every angle until we were as close as two could get without becoming a single existing being. I wasn't so scared of the line if he was the one I was supposed to cross it with. For the first time in my life, those feelings made themself known. I didn't want to be alone, not when I could be with him.

I don't know what it is about this boy, this wolf, this Peregrine that hushes my whimpering into silence and soothes my mind into rest. Everything feels alright in his arms as his warmth seeps into me little by little. It rolls across my every fiber and I want nothing than to stay here forever, tucked into his embrace and removed from the world. His breathing upon my neck sends shivers up my spine, every ghosted puff of air sparking against my skin and making me flush. I hardly know how to feel, how to react. I've never been in this kind of a situation. Never had anyone held me like this. This wasn't the embrace of a parent or sibling or friend. This was so much more than that. It was the dance of the sun and the moon, the sea and the sky, the light and the dark. It was a circle being completed and carried on forever as it becomes whole. He's so close, breathing in everything that I am and pulling me deeper into his world until I can hardly breathe. I can just barely see him out of the corner of my eye as he leans in to my neck. I don't expect for his tongue to graze against my skin, starting at the base of my jaw and sliding up to pull away behind my ear. My entire body shudders, a low whimper crawling up my throat until it's released lowly against his shoulder, my head bowed against him in embarrassment as my face flushes red. His hand works against mine until they are palm to palm, equal and connected. I pull back slowly, another small wave running through my body as he stares, intense and gentle all at once. I resist the urge to squirm under his curious scrutiny, uncomfortable in my own skin. It's never been like this, this unease within myself. I don't like it. I don't like being self-conscious of who I am and how I look and what I do. Suddenly everything feels all wrong and my heart is crying out in panic as he speaks the simplest of words. "Hello."

No. No, this isn't right. I can't do this. I just can't. I don't realize I'm saying the words out-loud at first, my voice quivering and breaking weakly as I begin to pull myself away. My entire body screams in agony, my every cell begging not to be forced back to work. I'm shaky as I stand, unraveling myself from his comforting arms and soothing warmth and entrancing voice. I want to let myself fall back into his arms, but nothing seems right and my body is moving of its own accord, stumbling towards the doorway and forcing it open with weak effort. My body tumbles forward a little, sagging into the door frame for a moment before I finally recover my senses and push myself upright on skinny, fragile legs. Many years ago, I made a promise. It was a promise I'd told myself for years as a little girl that I would keep forever and ever. I promised not to cross that line. I promised not to teeter over the edge of that cliff and become someone I was not. I promised to my father and I couldn't back out now just because he was gone. I turned towards the boy on the floor once more, stuttering over everything I wanted to say. In the end, there wasn't much else to be said. "I can't. I just... I can't. I'm sorry." I spin quickly on my heel, slipping into the hallway and breaking into a run despite my exhausted, malnourished body telling me not to. Everything is sideways and upside down. I'm sobbing and spilling forth every emotion left in me before I'm back where this all started, back with the sterility and questions, back where I have to be no matter how much it pains me. The doctor looks shocked for a only a moment before standing up and making his way over to me.

"I... I want to do this. Please, help me."