charonean
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Occtis is learning how his body works now: how to breathe by conscious choice; how to walk when you feel each muscle, ligament, tendon move and shift; and how to pump the blood through his body without a heart.
Julien, as his now-sworn protector, has an idea that may help. And that may prove useful in helping him stay alive a little longer, whatever that may mean for him now.
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He’s about to take a breath to steady himself before he remembers how much he dislikes that feeling now. And it feels so wrong to breathe but he feels so… lost without it. He activates his bellows-lungs, trying to feel the way air rushes in, screwing his face up as he forces the motion. And it rushes, and the air comes and comes. But relief never follows. There is no satisfaction, no calm, no comfort. Occtis doesn’t know how to steady his nerves that no longer light up and flare but still feel fear. The emotion feels real, but there is no physicality associated with it. No pit in his stomach, no shivers, no shaking, no clammy palms. That just feels worse. Stuck with this feeling with no way to express or release it.
Or, five times Occtis explores his undeath with his companions and one time he starts to figure it out on his own.
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Seventeen years ago, Jonas had chosen the woman who would become his wife by mentally checking off a list of qualities that would best appease society, that would best appease his family. She was young, objectively attractive, smart enough, and willing. He had told himself that she was the right choice. And yet every moment with her felt so painfully calculated, stiff, and unnatural. An imperfect imitation of affection, of love.
Niles Szereban was everything the Webber family would object against. A disgraced prosecutor, infamous for it, in fact. A man. A very notably gay man.
A very notably gay, very attractive man. One who had a piercing gaze, and shiny hair, and soft lips, and a body that felt as if it was made to be held by Jonas. -
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They were too coddled, Master Ikithon had said, and needed time away from their usual comforts. There would be times in their future where they would have to put up with worse than a night in a cold tower.
Bren’s father had once told him how, when he was off in the army, he had to spend a week sleeping in an old barn. The doors didn’t close right, and autumn was closing in on winter. The only reason he’d survived was because he and a couple of his fellow soldiers had huddled together for warmth.Or,
The first night Blumendrei spent in that tower.
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“Shit.” He picked up the newspaper that had been discarded in the trash. Shit, shit, shit, shit! The date on the top read March 24, 2003. He’d missed his mark by 16 years. How did he miss it by 16 years?
Or how Five ends up on the run with six thirteen-year-olds and they try to become a functional family.
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