#6ore

you don't answer immediately — you never do, not when it matters. your fingers curl against the edge of the cabin's window, pressing into the worn wood in an attempt to ground yourself there. like maybe this moment won't eventually drift away like all the others. yourr eyes are somewhere distant — outside, maybe, but more likely buried in the place you don't talk about with the others. the place you slip into. THEY'RE WATCHING YOU. it's voice again — it doesn't scare you anymore, not like it did months ago. it just is, as present as the wind that moves through the trees, or the hunger that never leaves your stomach. it doesn't shout — it knows. it pulses behind your eyes, rising up your throat. TELL HER. SHE WANTS TO KNOW. THEY ALWAYS WANT TO KNOW, BUT THEY NEVER SEE. “i have a spot.” you finally answer, voice coming out far more softer and steadier than hers.

you breathe in — count to four. you breathe out — count to six. again, again, like a ritual. like protection.

he doesn't respond at first, instead choosing to stare past her — jaw slack, eyes glazed over in that half-fugue way he's started doing more often. like he's only half tethered to his body, the rest of him drifting somewhere among in the trees, waiting for something. a sign. or god. OR MAYBE HE'S WAITING FOR NOTHING, because nothing at all would still feel cleaner than this. you did what you had to. those words fall like lottie believes them, like they're some form of medicine — as if they won't fester inside his ribcage the second she says them out loud. anakin laughs and it's hollow, raw around the edges. not cruel, just frayed at the edge. it dies in his throat almost immediately.

“i saw it, lottie.” anakin's gaze finally snaps to her now, sharper than it should be. burning. “i saw nat running, us chasing her. i saw the ice give on javi. weeks ago, i think, i'm not sure. i didn't say anything because —” his voice fractures, like bark splitting under snowmelt, body becoming weak at the realization surging inside his brain. WHAT HAVE I DONE? “i thought maybe it was meant to happen. that it chose.” his breath fogs in the air between them. he hates that it's still warm. he hates that he's still breathing. javi isn't.

what does it mean when you start obeying the visions? what does it mean when you stop questioning if they're right?

" okay, so knocking on the door's out? " quipped like a bolt of caffeine to lighten the mood. parked across from a house with its lights on like two unblinking eyes, they haven't seen movement in the empty windows for hours. he pushes the 'nocs up to his eyes one more time. lifeless.

should be a safe bet.

a spectre of the past, each child had already mourned the boy who lived, who returned from the cruel wilderness that swallowed his voice and took all feeling out of his expression. [a sacrificial lamb spat out by the woods after two months of cultivation, a tender composition of meat that's mere existence defied sense for the girls to finally feed off of.] javi had been one who survived when he shouldn't have. if one of them asked where he had been and what he had been doing that entire time, he wouldn't be able to produce an intelligible answer: it felt something like a dream, a series of movements and feeding that felt lightyears away from the present moment. going through the motions, unable to sense the grip of flesh at the behest his fingertips and the bones splintering between his teeth. seeing them was something like waking up, so how could he share that he felt more scared than ever, being back in their company? javi can still visualise the knife pressed deep into travis' throat, how they each salivated at the mere sight of blood, the trickle of red that cascaded down the long stretch of his neck. not nat, though. her alone could javi trust, not yet witnessing her succumb to the madness that had plagued them all. his hand fists against her jacket at a suspected attempt to leave, burying the cloth inside own terrified grasp.