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Cicada Nights
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me_irl
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Her efforts sputtered as her own breathing, the inches she tried to give or surrender to calm her own aura were journeys of miles and legions. The spinning of her vision only grew more insistent. She couldn't have looked either of the others in the eye even if she'd wanted to. Their voices were claws on chalk on board.

Still, she forced herself to uneasily listen.

In the gulf of silence after Adonis finished speaking, she nodded.

"I..."
another dangerous drop in the pit of her stomach, and her eyes bulged a bit but fortunately she strained eyes and mouth alike shut
"Ah-uh...-agree... I don't... nuh-n...know..."

She continued to agree with Adonis, almost wholeheartedly, much as her own heart was a quivering and fluttering arrhythmia and infarction. But the unknown face- unknown, she was reminded with a numb thrill of dread- was also right. Much as Rachael could barely turn her head more than a few degrees from perpendicular to earth she knew she was no killer.

Killer. That was something no amount of head-splitting anxiety, nausea... all these things, could force her to be.

Sign the tattered ancient parchment contract in your own blood and tears, little girl. Oh, but she says no. Words, they're just the illusion of choice anyways. You had not a leg to stand on from the get go, how could you have one when your own legs are always busy giving out from under you? You're a demon, a monster, and you accepted that long before you ever knew you'd be putting a scarlet pen to dotted line.

Rachael listened in hushed dread. To the people around her, to herself.
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Sad Tunes · The Cliffs
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