[ everything feels squeezed too tightly in his chest under the painful weight of his guilt. they’re fighting... they’re falling apart because of these mirrors, aren’t they? and dextera can’t make himself stop looking at the trees, even as he tries to stop akira, because he sees his own face, his own hands reaching out to him and that’s all he’s ever wanted, really.
if he could give this place to his reflection, he would. ]
Hh—
[ it’s as high as it is a pained sound, like the rusty hinges of a door blown open by a squall. he’s able to sit up, but nothing feels right to him. nothing but looking at the mirror, which hurts just as much as it helps. the tears are blurring his vision, and he can’t make himself stand. ]
Don’t.
[ it’s not a word so much as it is sound with enough breath behind it to be intelligible, almost, but it rasps at his throat and burns his tongue and he thinks he maybe shouldn’t do that again. ]
no subject
if he could give this place to his reflection, he would. ]
Hh—
[ it’s as high as it is a pained sound, like the rusty hinges of a door blown open by a squall. he’s able to sit up, but nothing feels right to him. nothing but looking at the mirror, which hurts just as much as it helps. the tears are blurring his vision, and he can’t make himself stand. ]
Don’t.
[ it’s not a word so much as it is sound with enough breath behind it to be intelligible, almost, but it rasps at his throat and burns his tongue and he thinks he maybe shouldn’t do that again. ]