( at first he's certain he's hallucinating. that, of course, or the next enemy designed to fell him will literally be the bat of a butterfly's wing.
he watches the flutter of those colorful wings, the splitting off and multiplying of the creatures, seemingly unaffected by the heavy downpour. he watches and he thinks of his daughter, of hope, and the power she held, kind and gentle in her hands, as she healed that broken wing of a butterfly the first day they spent together.
he shakes his head of the ambling, stumbling dream amidst his weakness and fading strength. he shakes his head as if the banish the insects from his vision, and struggles to stand, the yellow of his eyes blending into blue.
that's when he sees her in the near distance, watching. he blinks and she's before him, and he nearly flinches. if it weren't for the gentle touch on his arm and gentler words, offset by the ethereal and unnatural red in her eyes, he'd've attacked her. obviously, she's not like those intending to kill the others. she is an other.
he swallows and his throat is dry. he thinks about attacking her anyway, sinking his teeth into her flesh to curb his gnawing hunger, but her oddity has him reconsider: what is she? could she fight back? there's a ferocity, a hunger, and a distrust in his eyes; he answers, ) Who are you?
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he watches the flutter of those colorful wings, the splitting off and multiplying of the creatures, seemingly unaffected by the heavy downpour. he watches and he thinks of his daughter, of hope, and the power she held, kind and gentle in her hands, as she healed that broken wing of a butterfly the first day they spent together.
he shakes his head of the ambling, stumbling dream amidst his weakness and fading strength. he shakes his head as if the banish the insects from his vision, and struggles to stand, the yellow of his eyes blending into blue.
that's when he sees her in the near distance, watching. he blinks and she's before him, and he nearly flinches. if it weren't for the gentle touch on his arm and gentler words, offset by the ethereal and unnatural red in her eyes, he'd've attacked her. obviously, she's not like those intending to kill the others. she is an other.
he swallows and his throat is dry. he thinks about attacking her anyway, sinking his teeth into her flesh to curb his gnawing hunger, but her oddity has him reconsider: what is she? could she fight back? there's a ferocity, a hunger, and a distrust in his eyes; he answers, ) Who are you?