[private] Rapt

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever He returns here, again and again. He shouldn’t – the river holds the ache of memory in its waters, and though he’s cauterized that part of himself (mostly – there are dreams, sometimes), it never does to pick at the wound. Yet he has never been a smart man, has always held a certain attraction – a predilection – to pain. Pain, and monsters. He likes to think that part of himself gone, excised in the responsibility of fatherhood, but then, why is he here? It doesn’t matter. He should have turned away sooner, should have recognized the boy at the river for what – who – he was. But he was daydreaming, lulled by the chatter of the river, by the sweet patter of sun across his back, and he grew complacent. So before he realizes it, before he can act, he’s staring at the boy, puzzled, and then the features fall into place. He looks a little like Abysm, and there’s a flutter in Rapt’s heart, an involuntary jerk of the muscle. Because he has no other children, so there’s no mystery here. “Hello,” he says, voice low, as he moves back the boy. He intends to keep walking, to keep the greeting polite, ships in the night. Yet he’s slowed down. Like he’s awaiting a response. A fool, still. rapt caius x else