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You are exhausted. All you want to do is sleep.
Killing the weak sure drains your energy, don’t it Jack? You think to yourself, as you parry another harsh blow from her. She’s a beauty queen, and you can’t stop staring into her hollowed black eyes, fixated on the pools of darkness that so starkly contrast to your own. You’re complete opposites, and you think that’s what makes you love her so fucking much. Or maybe it’s the way she chased you through an entire dimension to kill you. Or possibly even the fact that she’s winning your fight.
You are exhausted. All you want to do is sleep.
But the flurry of blows bombarding you won’t let you. The rhythmic patterns you move your arm in to defend makes you a little bit more sleepy, rather than making you feel alive. Something in you just wants to give in.
She’s got a right to hate you, you know, you think to yourself, before fluttering your wings and landing feet away from her slashes.
You are exhausted. All you want to do is sleep.
You think about what would happen if you just didn’t move from your spot on the ground, if you planted your feet firmly and let her run you through. Would that make her happy? Would it even matter to her if you died?
She hates you, Jack! You think to yourself as you dodge in the nick of time, thinking setting you back a few steps and letting her nick your stomach with her blade tip.
You are exhausted. All you want to do is sleep.
A little bit of blood trickles down your front and she raises her paw to wipe her brow.
Does she even sweat? You think to yourself absently. And then the idea pops back into your head. It’s starting to get really fucking annoying. What if you let her win? Would it make her happy? Would it even matter? Would she forgive you?
Probably not, you think to yourself, a tone scolding and harsh in your head as you leap into the air above her. You circle around a bit, watching her carefully in an attempt to calculate her moves, but she’s unpredictable, another thing that drives you wild. Green electricity crackles around you, enveloping you in a warm limey light. Circling wears you out, so you plummet to the ground, far from her.
You are exhausted. All you want to do is sleep.
The idea poisons your mind, and it’s all you can think about as your fight for your life. It wiggles its way around in your head, like it knows every crevice of your thinkscape. What if you let her win? Would it make her happy? Would it even matter? Would she forgive you? Would she love you?
Would she love you?
She jumps at you, wings springing to life like a cat pouncing on its prey. She is the cat, and you are the prey. She knocks you to the ground, blade to your throat, feet perched gently on your arms, pinning you to the ground. She shadows you, eyes squinting and filled with tears like oil.
Would she love you? You think to yourself, and in that instant, you let yourself believe it.
You are exhausted. All you get to do is sleep.