Along the ridges of her vertebrae where the spiked barbs had sought existence to fruition, had rolled out of her like wave after wave, a wound has been opened in her skin. It is nestled between two hills, and in the shape of this meadow if you were to see it from the sky. If you look closely enough you can likely see the hazel, and the river, because history often has a way of repeating itself in strange and terrible ways. Glassheart doesn’t see it, but she does turn her cheek to look aslant the gentle curve of her shoulder as the ache sinks heavy into her bones.
She doesn’t know about the contagion, had missed the events that transpired to release it but she will learn soon enough.
It touches everything — taps, again and again and again, asking to come inside. It wants to enter. It wants to curl up inside her bloodstream like a hot bath. It wants to leave its belongings in her drawers, and a toothbrush by her sink, and when the holidays roll in it wants to meet her family because it wants to stay forever.
And it will.
A weakness found, at last, in the cut that looks just like this meadow. The sickness spills into her like oil into the ocean and everything is black, and tarry. Everything is ruined.
Of course she doesn’t feel the invasion. This is not the first time she has been usurped, and perhaps she has grown used to it. Perhaps normal, to her, is to feel the presence of something different in your skin that isn’t yours and never will be. Because she is oblivious to the damage inside of her as she walks, stupidly, looking for more — she can’t feel how it winds and twists through every atom of every molecule, growing roots between the finely tangled threads of her DNA where it begins to congeal, and fester like rot.
And it is hardly the most alarming thing about her.
Because when she sees it — the glint of silver — a thousand warning bells sound off inside her head and inside her body.
Because when she hears it — “Hello again,”--- it sounds like more exists than just two words, four syllables.
It calls her home.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she says, stupid.
Even now, she cannot feel her body betraying her again.
Glassheart
i'll always love you the most
@[Cordis] I might have gone ham with the toothbrush metaphor. :|