The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Someone cried out.

Tel stopped in her tracks.

It was a voice she knew. It was Kez.

Someone shouted.

Her hands tightened into knots on the glaive’s shaft.

It was a voice she couldn’t understand. It was one of them.

Something touched her. She spun around, ready to stab and swing and scream—

“Tel!”

A voice she knew. Rys. But her anger, her panic, her fear did not subside.

“I-I heard it too,” Rys was whispering, her voice tiny in the shadows of the camp’s many tents. “W-we have to be careful, they might be—”

She did not care. She could not care. She could not waste her time listening. Her weapon was in her hands, ready, hungry, hard and sharp and full of hurt. Like the breath in her throat. It sighed in as she reared back, and screeching out as she ran forward.

The glaive was loud, shredding through canvas, ripping through the tent, in and out, her feet carrying it forward. But her voice was silent. Gone. Nowhere.

Because she did not need it. Because the glaive would speak for her. Because whatever words she could summon would sound as wet, squishy, and useless as her insides felt.

The blade spoke again, laughing as it ripped a jagged hole through the tent’s other side. And she stepped calmly through, into the face of the terrified, dark-faced man before her.

That was all she could register. The glaive delivered a grim greeting, and his throat spread open with a gaping red grin to meet it.

He fell. And she stepped calmly on top of him, twitching under her feet, gurgling into the dirt. She was not angry. She could not be angry. It was the rabbit-killer that was angry, roaring as it smashed the man’s skull to shards.

And another body was on the ground. She couldn’t bear to look. She couldn’t bear to know.

And she would not have to. Because another body was still standing, arms spread, hands full of light. Crackling. Writhing like the ancestors’ lights. The hairs on her neck standing on end. The robe they wore billowed in the air, caught by a gust, and their lips were poised to open.

A man? or a woman? It did not matter. The blade met them just the same, hurled through the air like a spear, giggling at their look of shock before it kissed their face in two. Thrown so hard the hook of it buried into their forehead, the light dying in their hands, the butt of the glaive shooting high up into the air as their neck snapped and they fell, motionless. Dead.

Dead.

Her fingers had no more of the blood-red cloth to cling to. There was no one left standing to kill. Her weapon, her defense was out of her hands. And they trembled.

Tel couldn’t stand.

She sank.

She couldn’t look away.

She dared to roll the body over, and a braid like the evening sun tumbled into the dirt. A face pale and serene and slack.

“Kez,” she breathed. “Kez. Kez, n-no, no, no I’m here, Kez, you’re—”

Was she breathing? Was there a pulse? Tel scrambled forward, off the body of the dead man, breathing so hard to keep herself from suffocating, to keep the dark at the edges of her vision from closing in entirely, to—

“Kez!” Rys moaned. The seer ran forward, skidded into the dirt, put her hands to Kez’s face.

Tel didn’t know what to do with her hands. This shouldn’t have been happening. Couldn’t have been happening. Her chest felt so tight, and she didn’t know where to look. She didn’t even look hurt. She looked…

Perfect.

Beautiful.

Tel forced her eyes shut. Deep, shuddering breaths. Holding onto Kez’s hands so tight, to keep her from going away, to keep from losing her, to keep—

“She’s alive.”

Ancestors, thank you.

Tel made her eyes open again. Saw Kez’s face, saw Rys’ hands, her eyes, her brow, her open frown.

“Something’s wrong,” Tel managed. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Rys said. “Something’s… wait, she’s been shot?”

Had she? What?

Wait. In the left arm of her coat. An arrow burrowed deep, its fletching pure white. Tel reached for it… then hesitated. “Is it safe?” she asked.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Can you find out?”

“I don’t know!”

“Rys.”

The seer looked over, her eyes wide, wet, her lip quivering.

“Breathe,” Tel said, and took a breath in… and out… “Just like that.” In… and out… “We can fix this,” she said, wishing she could feel so confident.

“W-we can,” Rys nodded, following the rhythm.

“Can you do this?”

“Yes.” Tel wished that she could sound so certain.

“Then tell me what I must do.”

Rys bent down, flattened her palms to Kez’s skin, and again, Tel’s gaze was left lingering, flitting, worrying, wondering, until Rys spoke once more. “There’s… something inside her?”

“Inside her?”

“I-I’m not sure, it’s hard to see, but I can tell that it’s…”

Tel’s gaze drifted to her glaive, shivered at the sight of it still buried in the fallen seer’s face. “Magic?” she asked.

Rys looked up. “How did you…” Her gaze followed Tel’s. “... oh. Yes. I-it’s some sort of it, b-but I’m not sure what it’s doing…”

“And this arrow is the cause?” Tel’s fist was already gripping the shaft of it.

“Yes.”

“I am going to remove it.”

Tel hesitated a moment, waiting to see if Rys would stop her, would warn her against the action, but instead the seer only nodded. “O-okay.”

Though Rys had the luxury of shutting her eyes. Tel did not. She stared down at it, and breathed deep, and squeezed Kez’s hand, and pulled hard—

“FUCK!”

“Rabbit!”

“Kez!”

“The fuck are both of you shouting for?” the huntress hissed, her body rising to sit upright. “We’re supposed to be fucking stealthy, that means no screaming and no…” Her lips pursed, and her eyes looked first ahead to the corpse with the long pole buried in its face, then to Tel. “No doing that.”

Tel couldn’t do anything but smile. “I’ll be more careful,” she whispered.

“Yeah, you’d better.” Kez chuckled. “Don’t want to be the one cleaning up your messes.”

“That is my duty for your mistakes, Kez.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Um, Tel?” The seer, in her timid voice.

“Yes, Rys?”

“Why… why isn’t there any blood?”

Tel looked down. An arrow had gone through the huntress’ coat, pierced her skin… but there was no hole. No mark on the hide, no pale flesh rent apart, no blood dripping down off Kez’s fingers.

“Um, blood from what?” Kez asked.

Rys’ head turned. “F-from you?”

“Why would there be blood from me?”

Tel looked at her hand. From the pure white fletching to the silver, glinting tip… not a drop of blood. “Because you were shot with this,” she heard herself saying.

Kez looked incredulously to the arrow, and between both her skeinmates’ faces. “You’re playing a joke on me,” she said.

“You were shot, Kez,” Tel insisted, and felt the quaver in her voice, just as surely as Kez must’ve heard it.

“Well, if I was,” Kez started, “then there should be blood, or a wound, or I don’t know, anything?” The huntress shook her head, planting her hands and starting to rise out of the dirt. “I don’t know what you two think you saw, but I don’t ffffffuuck!”

Rys was closest, and caught Kez by the shoulders as she collapsed. Tel could only watch while the huntress’ body convulsed, shaking with tremors in every limb, breath strangling in her throat and coughing, wheezing in and out. The feeling of constriction had gone, but now it was here again—muscles tightening, lungs freezing, Tel’s whole body was rigid, and she stared, helpless, until Kez stopped shaking and moaned as she went limp in Rys’ arms.

“It must be the magic,” Tel rasped to the seer, glaring at the bloodless arrow held between her fingers. No ordinary bolt could cut through skin and fur without leaving a scratch—and such a strange weapon could be the only cause of such a sudden, stranger malady.

“I think so, but it’s…” Rys’ brow furrowed, her eyes staring down as though she could see through Kez’s flesh and bone and glimpse something within. Maybe she could. Because whatever she saw made her look up again with panic. “It’s bad.”

It would have been better not to ask. It would have been better not to display her fear. And it would have been better not to think of it at all, because no matter the outcome, no matter the answer, it would not end how she wanted. And she was a fool for ever thinking that it would.

But she asked, anyway. “How bad?”

Rys pursed her lips. Silent, her eyes staring around the walls of tents that surrounded them. “We can’t take care of her here. It’s not safe,” she said.

“But the stone—”

Rys cut her off before she could go any farther, and her words were sharp as nails. “The stone doesn’t matter if we starve before we make it back.”

Oh. That bad. But there was no time to linger on it. Tel nodded. “Agreed,” she said.

“We’ll go back the way we came, then we can—”

“Not agreed.”

Both pairs of eyes turned down to Kez’s face. Damp with sweat, eyes half open, lip trembling, she still spoke, “I’m not gonna die.”

“You will not,” Tel said. Not unless I have first, she did not say.

“But just to argue about it, let’s say I—” A coughing fit began. Choked and wet, Kez covered her mouth and hacked for nearly a minute, while her skeinmates looked away. “Ah, shit. Well there’s the blood. Great.” Kez lifted her hand, the back of it splattered with droplets of red.

Rys gasped. “We’re leaving,” she said immediately.

“We have to,” Tel agreed.

“Would you two fucking listen to me?” Kez groaned.

A breath shuddered into Tel’s throat, and out as she held her temper to speak. “We are not leaving you, Kez.”

The huntress blinked. “Well, fucking yeah, you better not! Ancestors alive, I’d hamstring both of you if you even tried to dump me here.”

“Then what are you saying?” Rys asked.

Kez sighed, setting her jaw. “I’m saying we’ve come this far and done so much that there is no way we can leave here without getting that rock.”

Tel shook her head. “No.”

Kez cocked an eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” Tel repeated. She didn’t care that Rys was there, watching, listening, biting her lip and wringing her hands. Tel drew close, grabbing and holding both of Kez’s hands. “You matter,” she said.

“So does this,” Kez said.

“But not as much as—”

“Don’t say it,” Kez whispered. And Tel knew she was right. Because if she said it… she would admit it. She would have to know it, and feel it, and bear it for as long as she lived. Her eyes widened. Kez, in all her pain, the agony writhing across her face, wanted to spare her that hurt. “This matters more.”

“I c-cannot accept that.”

“Fine,” Kez said, drawing in a deep breath. “You don’t have to. You just have to do it.”

“I can’t.” Tel did not speak the next words coming into her mind. Leave you. Lose you. Lose anyone again. Lose someone that I…

Kez’s voice, strained, cut through the thoughts. “You’re the only one who can.” And then the huntress loosed a laugh. Tired, weak, hurting, but a laugh. “Look at Rys.”

Tel did. Dark circles rimmed the seer’s eyes, her cheeks were wet with tears already shed, her shoulders and hands were so stiff, yet they still shook. “I… can’t do it myself,” Rys acknowledged. “I’m not strong enough.”

Neither am I.

“But you are,” Kez insisted to Tel. “You’re the warrior, right?”

“Yes.”

“What’s that mean?”

Tel swallowed. “It means that I must protect.”

“Yeah. Means you have to protect not just us...”

“But everyone after us, too,” Tel finished.

Kez smirked. “Hope that’s not too tough for you.”

In spite of everything, a smile grew on Tel’s lips, for only a moment. “Nothing is too difficult, when my skein is at my back,” she said.

“And we’re—”

Another coughing fit.

Which turned to convulsions once more.

Rys held on tight, and nodded to Tel. “Go. Quickly, please. We’ll stay. And I’ll… I’ll do what I can.”

Her face and legs felt numb as she stood. And she backed away, still staring at her skeinmates in the dirt—Rys trembling, Kez shaking—until she was afforded something else to place her eyes on.

Her glaive, and its sloppy, half-devoured meal. A puddle of blood, dark as the dirt it seeped into. A body that would soon be swallowed whole, and become meat for the worms and the creatures below. Dead, yes. But it would provide life. It would sustain life. It would take years, but such things would come to pass. Grasses would grow. Flowers would bloom. Food for the beasts of the land and birds of the skies.

Tel had no such guarantees. The glaive in her hands, chuckling as it was drawn from its still-warm sheath, did not create life. Nor sustain life. Nor even could it ensure the protection of a life.

She started down the alleys. Life was all around her. Men and women speaking in a foreign tongue. Blazing fires. Fluttering banners. The sky itself, glowing, shining, twisting with the light of her ancestry. And burning. The ancestors were watching her with a fiery glare, a long, thin, and unblinking vermillion eye. Unimpressed. Unnerved. Weeping their blue-green tears over the sky of stars.

Would she fail them, too?

She had already failed her skein. Her most important, most necessary, most sacred duty. Keep the skein from harm. For how many years had she been told this. For how many years had she been trained for this. Forged into a tool, a shield, a sheltering wall against any storm: any danger, physical or mental, any fear, real or imagined. She had hardened her flesh to save that of others. And so too had she hardened her emotions to preserve those of others. Like a pillar. Something constant. Something to rely on. Something unbreakable.

And the minute that she had softened, everything had gone wrong.

She had thought that failing Rys was the worst which could have happened. Her inattentiveness had cost them all—for she had seen those moments of quietness, fear, worry, anxiety, secrets kept hidden… but she had done nothing.

She had thought her strength enough. Enemies had been slain. Dangers defeated. She was protecting.

All while she made herself weaker. Softer. Vulnerable and attached.

Because of Kez.

No. Because of herself. Because of her selfish want for companionship. For joy. For that laughter and that smile.

Her greed would cost them all of it.

She looked at the glaive in her hands, the blade coated and drooling warm red life. This she could face. This she could understand. This she could want, and need, and crave, and never fail in. She could never lose this. Because this is what it was better to be. This is what she was.

Always sharp. Always honed. Always deadly. Killing anything that came too close.

Maybe she had not failed Kez. Maybe she had done exactly what she was meant to do. Maybe it was not a weeping and mournful red gaze from above. Maybe it was a knowing smile, red like the curve of her blade.

The tent was in front of her. The glaive led her inside, whispering, murmuring, hissing in anticipation. Bodies in front of her. Three, or maybe four. They hadn’t realized they were dead yet. And she just watched. Carried the blade. Delivered the ancestors’ preordained remarks. And the glaive found it all so funny. So beautiful. So much writhing, squirming, gleeful laughter. In and out. In and out. Pauses like it needed to catch its breath. And in those moments, she heard nothing. She saw lips move. Hands clasped together. Knees in the dirt. But she heard nothing.

She had been distracted. Idle. Impresent. Unable to defend. That was her mistake.

The mistake of these ones was hurting her friend.

She only looked around when the glaive moaned at last, sated, glutted with death. Six bodies on the ground. Motionless faces, their blood like bright blush. Eyes staring up toward the lights. Some of them brown. Some of them women. She saw Kez in each.

And she doubled over, and she vomited, until she couldn’t feel her hateful, guilty, crying insides any longer.

On a table, at the center, where some of them had gathered, where blood ran on the cloth like rivers. A stone, the size of four fists. Jagged. Sharp edges. Nothing like the smooth, polished fragment around her neck. Warm in both her hands. Were the ancestors proud of her for this carnage? Or were they condemning her for her negligence?

She left the tent without thinking. Crossed paths with no one. Forced herself to think nothing, not of the danger nor of the urgency. Forced herself to feel nothing, to have no sense outside her duty. No smell of smoke. No sounds of laughter and steel. No paths of dirt below her or strange tents at her sides. No taste of blood in her mouth. No pain, no wounds stretching themselves past their limits. No nausea, no exhaustion, no confusion, no rage. She had a duty. That was all she could allow herself.

But she was still afraid.

First she walked, then she ran, until she saw the two bodies in the dirt. Still breathing. She came forward, and Rys turned away. Kez’s eyes were shut. “I have it,” she said.

“I know. I felt you coming.”

She offered the stone to the seer, but Rys would not even look at it. “Is it damaged?”

“It’s so hot.”

“I do not…”

“P-please put it away. It’s too bright.”

She did not understand, but she did, dropping it into her satchel.

And her eyes found Kez, and Tel fell to her knees. “How is she?”

“She,” Kez mumbled for herself, wincing, “is in constant, unbearable agony.” The huntress offered a wink, then a groan. “Did you get it?”

Tel found her hands. “Yes. I have it.”

“Good. That’s… uh… that’s good, Tel, really… what’s… what’re we…”

She leaned closer. “The stone, Kez?”

The huntress stared. Her pupils wide, lips loose. “The… what stone?”

Tel looked to Rys, who shook her head. “Th-the tremors have slowed, and I have tried to heal her with magic, but…” The seer swallowed. “It is some curse. She is here one moment, and then not, and the curse is only spreading faster, and deeper and—”

“H-hey.” Kez’s eyes were clear, and her breath shook as she stared each skeinmate down. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“You’re in no condition to move!” Rys hissed.

“Fucking, fuck that. Tel. Pull me the fuck up.”

Tel stood up, and pulled on the huntress’ arms, and for a moment it seemed as though she might stand on her legs… then she teetered, and leaned like a felled tree into Tel’s arms, moaning and convulsing again. Rys rushed forwards, and the skein held tight until the shaking ceased, but Kez did not stand tall. Her feet shuffled, struggling to keep aloft, and Tel’s eyes searched the skies for answers, the earth for answers, the… the bloodless arrow, lying at their feet. “Rys,” she whispered.

The seer followed her gaze, eyes widening as she saw it there as well. “Do you think that it would…?”

“Does it bear the same curse that is inside her?”

Rys shook her head. “N-no. I’ve examined it, it’s… it may have been the cause, at first, but it won’t… I don’t think it would hurt. I think it might… help.”

“By putting her to rest.”

“Temporarily.”

Tel swallowed. “Would she feel…?”

“Nothing. It would be like… a d-deeper waking sleep.”

The huntress stirred in Tel’s arms. “What about the… mmnuh, wakin’ sleep?”

Rys shook her head frantically… but Tel spoke anyway. “We want to put you to sleep, Kez,” she said softly.

“Like… buhfore?”

“Yes, rabbit.” Her voice choked, caught, but she went on. “Just like before. And I’ll… I-I’ll keep you safe this time.”

Kez smiled, then seized, and coughed up blood onto Tel’s chest. “... ’s it gonna hurt?”

“No,” Tel whispered. “No. I promise you.”

“And you’ll be there.”

“Yes. Always.”

“And… you’ll wake me up…”

“I swear.” She squeezed the huntress tight. “I promise you. I will.”

“... uhkay… s-seeya in the… mmorning…”

Rys was ready with the arrow. There was no way to know where on the arm it had first punctured, and Tel trusted the seer to place it now where it do the most good. She nodded, and Rys drove it in hard, inches below the shoulder. Kez gasped loudly… and then her eyes shut. Her legs stopped kicking, her arms going loose around Tel’s neck, all of her seeming so peacefully limp and small. But the seer shook her head. “It hasn’t stopped. She just… doesn’t feel it.”

That was good enough. It would have to be. If she could not be saved, then the least they could do would be to forestall such suffering.

… but she would be saved. She had to be. She looked so delicate. Unique. Perfect. Beautiful. Inexpendable.

Special.

Tel couldn’t lose her. Rys couldn’t lose her. No one should have to, because… because she was amazing. But she was weak now. And hurting. And she needed strength. So did Rys. And so did Tel. She couldn’t allow herself to be weak, no. Only strong.

Which is why she barely thought, as they ran. Barely felt the weight of the woman on her shoulders, the weapon on her back, the stone in her satchel. Barely looked where her feet were falling. Rys was erasing their tracks, but there was little point. And there was little point to listen for shouts from the camp. They were already far away, and farther and farther with each step.

And it was so cold. She could hear Rys’ teeth chattering as her hands kept twisting, shoving the snow, making the path they took pristine. She could feel Kez’s body shivering, sleeping as deeply as it was, shuddering against her back and neck and arms. Tel just gritted her teeth. For to speak, to question, to consider, to think would invite doubt. Not just of the others, but of herself. Of how her shoulders felt like lead. Of how her knees were brittle, stumbling under the weight. Of the ache in her head and in those old wounds made fresh once more, growing louder and louder with every moment. Of how dark everything she could see seemed to be, even the staring, screaming skies of light above.

She could not invite these. She could not waste even one moment, one second spent indulging her ruinous ego.

She only walked. And walked. And walked. Until they saw the tent, until Tel lit the fire, made it glow and roar and warm their tired, aching, frozen bodies.

Kez was shivering and sweating, both at once. They undressed her, laid her close to the flames, but the shaking didn’t cease. They gave her furs to lie on, but it was of little comfort. The pelts had come from the bear, killed seemingly ages ago. Tel could remember what she did, and how it looked, but not how it felt.

And when the running was done, and the panic was gone, they were just three women in a tent once more. Nothing to fight. Nothing to do. She could only wait. And only worry.

And Rys? The seer had tried. She had put her hands in all places. Touched them together in many different ways. She had spoken her magical nonsense and it had helped nothing. She had prayed—so many words, so much hope, so much need, but it too had done nothing. And Tel only stared, distant and detached, stiff and rigid on her knees and holding Kez’s hand so tightly it shook. Her body and mind, wracked with exhaustion and emotion, wanted nothing more than to surrender to that same, deadened sleep her skeinmate was locked in.

But she would not give in so easily, not with so much to do and so much more to bear. Even if all she could do was wait. Waiting, until Rys sat back, wiping away sweat and shaking her head.

“Can’t you do something?” Tel asked, Tel begged the seer.

“There’s no wounds to heal. There’s no… there’s nothing to fix,” she said.

“She is dying. You can twist magic. Can you not remake this curse? Can you not stop it?”

“I can’t stop it without knowing what it is, and I—”

“So learn. Do something. You are the only one who can.”

“But I’ve never seen anything like this!” the seer shouted. “I’ve never done this! I can’t do this!”

“Then you let her die.” Tel drew close, bringing Kez’s head into her lap, putting a hand to her blazing forehead.

“... we might have to accept that, Tel…”

“NO.” Tears were in her eyes. Sharp blades in her throat. Words that cut her own heart open. “She has not done anything wrong. She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves to live. She… she can’t die because of… because I wasn’t there, because I didn’t…”

“Tel…” Rys murmured quietly, “you can’t blame yourself for—”

“THEN WHO SHALL WE BLAME?” she roared. “The ancestors who put us on a quest of ruin? The foreigners who doomed us? The seer who could do nothing?” Tel shook her head. “None of that should matter. None of that should have been a danger. That is why I am here. That is why I exist. To stop the danger. T-to keep her safe. And I could not… I couldn’t…” She breathed deep to fight down a sob. “I am going to wake her.”

“She’ll hurt,” Rys whispered.

“I promised her. Just as you swore an oath to us. To lead us. To guide us. To see us through this forsaken Trial. And it has brought us nothing but…” Another deep, shuddered breath. “If you will not help, then leave. Prepare for your own death. Choose, if you like; will we starve on the walk back, or should I let the fire die and leave the tent open so we can freeze in our sleep tonight? I cannot care. My duty… is here.”

She paid no mind to the seer then. Rys may have said something. Protested. Argued. Cried. None of it mattered. Kez breathed softly in her arms, in her lap, and… and her eyes looked past the arrow, to the place on the ground where her glaive lay.

She shuddered at it. Never had it looked so sharp. So angry. So cruel. It had not been cleaned, it had not been cared for. There was no time. The blade was caked with blood, and flesh was still pierced on the hook’s sharp point. And blood ran farther down the shaft, meeting the red-wrapped handholds, and down, down at the bottom… the bloody spike.

“Is that what this is for? Ending a life? Making a clean kill?”

The voice in her memories drew her eyes to the one who had spoken them. So long ago.

“You object?”

“I think it’s sick.”

She would hurt. She would know pain. To wake her would be to force suffering onto her. To end it now…

“There’s no honor or goodness in driving a spike through something’s brain.”

But would she want it? Would she want her to say the prayer, send her on, give her painless peace, as she had, day after day, for her prey?

“It is a cleaner end than suffering.”

It would be. It would be painless and clean, and she wouldn’t hurt.

But when her hand tried to reach for the pole… she could only find Kez’s cheek. So soft. So hot. So full of life. Her fingers trembled and tangled in the huntress’ hair. She could not do it. She couldn’t even remember the words of the hunter’s prayer.

And she had made a promise. The arrow slid out of her arm without leaving so much as a scratch on her pristine form. The huntress coughed. Spat out blood. Shook. And it was some time before she could open her eyes, and longer before she could speak. But she smiled. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Hi,” Tel said. Barely a whisper.

“I… dreamed about you,” the huntress said.

“D-did you?”

“Yeah, and we…” Coughing. Shaking. Groaning with pain. But smiling yet again. “What’re we… doing?”

Tel shuddered. Blinked away tears. “Talking, rabbit. We are talking.”

“Then… why’s it hurt so bad…” Convulsing again. Crying. Tears and blood as Tel held her tight. While Tel shouted. Begged for help. For Rys. For the ancestors. For anyone. But the seer was gone. Just her clothes in a pile. The stone’s empty satchel. Like she was never even there. And the light from the sky shone through the tent’s billowing flap. But the ancestors did not answer. It was only her. And only Kez.

And she could no longer be so strong.

“... Tel?” Weak, murmuring, out of the string of sobs. A clear look in her eye.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here, Kez.”

“... it hurts…”

“I know. I know, Kez. I’m so sorry. I’m so…”

“Can you… m-make it not? A-again?”

She didn’t want to look away from Kez. To find the arrow that would make it bloodless, painless, thoughtless. To find the spike that would make it quick. She heard herself whimper, and shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t, n-not without… y-you would go away.”

Her eyes, narrowed and fluttering, started to cry once more. “I don’t wanna go,” she said.

“I know.”

“... wanna…” Hacking. Choking. Gasping for air and moaning in pain. “Wanna stay with you,” she begged.

“I’m here. I-it’s not home, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I’m here, a-and…”

“... and ’s good enough…” A smile. Tiny. Fragile. “Could you… sing for me?”

She nodded. She shut her lips, and made her eyes hold tight to Kez’s. So tight. “Is it… the wailing of the wind… is it… th-the howling of the wolves… i-it is… a lost and lonesome ch-child—and it is, a keening, winter’s cry…”

And she could no longer make herself sing.

And the tears began to fall.

Even this much, this smallest thing, she could not do.

“H-hey…” Kez inched closer. Whispered hoarsely. “... if I knew it’d make you cry, I… wouldn’t’ve asked…”

“It is… i-it’s not the song, no, rabbit…”

“... then why…?”

“Because…” she sobbed, “because I love you.”

And Kez smiled. And cried, too. “Was that so… hard to say?”

“No.” She shook her head. “N-no. I… I should’ve, should’ve said it a thousand times…”

Coughing. Wheezing. Blood and spittle and shaking and heaving. Sighing. Going loose in her arms. “... then say it again…?”

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you more than I—” Sobbing. Choking. “I love you.”

“... and… again…”

“I love you. I’m never, never going to leave. I love you, Kez, p-please. I…”

“... annn…” Shaking. Softening. Rattling.

She shut her eyes. She held so tight. “I love you. I need you, I l-love you so much. I love you. I…”

Wailing. Squeezing.

Nothing.

Empty.

Gone.

Silence. Like the whole world held its breath, there in her arms.

She could not let go of her own. She could not feel her own body. She could not hear her own thoughts. She didn’t even know if she had a body to feel with any longer, or a mind to think with. There was barely even numbness. And she was more alone then than ever, because there was not even a self to be in her company.

There was only silence.

And only darkness.

And only a breath leaving lips.

“... hey… kinda crushing me…”

Her eyes snapped open. Light was everywhere. Through the walls of the tent, the aurora burning like a hundred suns. The fire louder still, shimmering with a thousand colors.

And in her arms, a blood-red braid, blazing, unblemished skin, glowing brighter than everything, so warm, and so hot, and so bright, and so full of life, charged, buzzing, tingling, flooding, overflowing, outpouring everywhere and everything and…

“Tel?”

Tel opened her eyes once more. And the world was dark again. But Kez still shone. Radiant. And smiled. And straddled her middle. Soft. And looked deep into her eyes.

“You were dying.”

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Is this… a dream?”

“I dunno. Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. If it is one, then you might be…”

“If it is, who’s dreaming?

“... what?”

“Well, if we’re in a dream, whose dream is it? Mine or yours?”

“I do not think it matters, rabbit.”

“Why the fuck not? That sounds important to me, ’cause...”

“Because you’re here. And I am here. Nothing else could matter to me.”

“So if it’s a dream...”

“Then one of us had best not awaken.”

“I won’t if you won’t… c’mon, why don’t we enjoy it, either way?”

And they did.

And they kissed.

And they embraced.

And they knew that this was exactly what they were meant to do.