Bravo Fleet
Rhaelle wakes into pain before thought, and a darkness so complete it seems to press inwards. She can’t feel her legs. Or any other part of her body.
She’s floating. Every now and then, she collides with memories that don’t feel like her own, parts of a story loosely tied by the certainty that something had gone terribly wrong.
Bone.
Hollow sockets filled with a dull glow.
Claws parting flesh.
Slow and deliberate.
Searching, digging, finding, retrieving.
Footsteps.
Impact.
A scream, neither dignified nor brave.
A hand pulls her up, skin stretched over bone, nails thick and dark and razor-sharp.
A beast.
Body marked with lines that are equal parts scars and words.
It’s waiting for her.
She walks towards its open maw, and it swallows her whole.
It isn’t violent. It’s almost ceremonial.
She’s holding a dagger.
Noticing the symbols too late.
It sinks into silver skin.
The scream returns.
Then it fades.
And then, there is the hum.
Steady, constant, and unbothered.
It anchors her, gives her something to hold onto.
Memories scatter.
The ground returns.
Reality reasserts itself.
Rhaelle inhales, and this time, her lungs obey. The pain is still there, but her legs are hers again. Heavy. But real.
Someone – something – exhales nearby. Slowly, she opens her eyes. Then she turns her head.
The monster kneels beside her, claws hovering over her ribs, but her heartbeat fails to rise.
Up close, the beast is smaller than she imagined. Smaller than she remembers. Too small to be a threat.
It flinches as Rhaelle meets its eyes.
Claws become hands before growls become words, and breath finds rhythm before bone becomes flesh.
Claws become hands before growls become words, and breath finds rhythm before bone becomes flesh.
Rhaelle reaches out before she understands why.
