Anita had spent months with Marianne learning how to shield, how to think of metal or water or rock to keep the thoughts she didn't want shared to herself. What Anita hadn't really understood until just this moment was how to not shield, how to remove them. She used to think of doors or walls, which are easy to open or see crumble, but how do you crumble metal or open water?
It isn't about that, she realizes as she holds tightly to Damian. It's about not thinking about metal. As soon as she stops thinking about it, the rage of Damian pours into her.
No, not rage. Rage implies anger, fury, thought. This... Anita had been thinking she was slowly going crazy in this detached manner over the previous months, but staring into what she is now, she knows crazy isn't detached.
Crazy is fucking crazy with no logic to it at all.
One moment she's worried about keeping Damian's mouth off Richard, off Nathaniel, and the next, she's drowning in feeling and impulse.
Trapped, trapped by hands, trapped to the floor, trapped while hunger is a fire in our gut. Feed, we must feed, fresh blood so close, warm and willing and waiting for our teeth. And there is pain, such pain, ripping through our skin, devouring us from the inside out, and we must feed--
Anita screams, but she knows the sound leaving her throat will never be loud enough, never be long enough, to exercise what she's just felt. Nathaniel's scream is right there with hers, just as tortured, and she wonders if they're all going to drown in their own blood as Damian consumes them utterly.
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Date: 2009-10-04 10:53 pm (UTC)Anita had spent months with Marianne learning how to shield, how to think of metal or water or rock to keep the thoughts she didn't want shared to herself. What Anita hadn't really understood until just this moment was how to not shield, how to remove them. She used to think of doors or walls, which are easy to open or see crumble, but how do you crumble metal or open water?
It isn't about that, she realizes as she holds tightly to Damian. It's about not thinking about metal. As soon as she stops thinking about it, the rage of Damian pours into her.
No, not rage. Rage implies anger, fury, thought. This... Anita had been thinking she was slowly going crazy in this detached manner over the previous months, but staring into what she is now, she knows crazy isn't detached.
Crazy is fucking crazy with no logic to it at all.
One moment she's worried about keeping Damian's mouth off Richard, off Nathaniel, and the next, she's drowning in feeling and impulse.
Trapped, trapped by hands, trapped to the floor, trapped while hunger is a fire in our gut. Feed, we must feed, fresh blood so close, warm and willing and waiting for our teeth. And there is pain, such pain, ripping through our skin, devouring us from the inside out, and we must feed--
Anita screams, but she knows the sound leaving her throat will never be loud enough, never be long enough, to exercise what she's just felt. Nathaniel's scream is right there with hers, just as tortured, and she wonders if they're all going to drown in their own blood as Damian consumes them utterly.