( were he not in excruciating pain, he may have said something biting in return. fenris may not want him dead, but anders is looking forward to the day he can visit fenris' tombstone so he might knock it over. he doesn't have the strength or the motivation to say that much, and what would it say about him that he his last words in this realm could be so full of hatred and vitriol? is that all he ever was? hatred disguised as integrity?
he doesn't want to think about that.
in fact, he doesn't want to think at all. or breathe, or move, or exist. up until now, he'd been speaking in hardly above a whisper when he wasn't crying out at the pain of it all, but now he's silent. he can hear fenris in the near distance, but to shout back for him feels impossible. )
...Thank you for doing me the kindness of lying.
( because lying to someone about how much you don't want them dead when you totally, absolutely do is a really nice thing, when you think about it.
he sighs out a breath that feels like it might be his last, and with it, some fighting spirit within him sends out an beacon of light. it's faint, what he sends up into the air, but it glows so strangely that it's impossible not to notice. at its source lies a crumpled heap of clothing and feathers that may or may not be anders. his fresh wings are tacky with blood, like newborn's, and the shoulder blades where they stem from are rocky with splintered bone. all over, painful golden patterns crack his skin, not unlike when he's occupied by justice.
despite how horrific it is, this isn't something anders wouldn't be able to heal... except for now. without his magic, he can't do anything. he doesn't know who he is without that connection to the vast beyond, a connection that seems to be failing him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
winterfish
no subject
Date: 2023-01-26 03:35 am (UTC)( were he not in excruciating pain, he may have said something biting in return. fenris may not want him dead, but anders is looking forward to the day he can visit fenris' tombstone so he might knock it over. he doesn't have the strength or the motivation to say that much, and what would it say about him that he his last words in this realm could be so full of hatred and vitriol? is that all he ever was? hatred disguised as integrity?
he doesn't want to think about that.
in fact, he doesn't want to think at all. or breathe, or move, or exist. up until now, he'd been speaking in hardly above a whisper when he wasn't crying out at the pain of it all, but now he's silent. he can hear fenris in the near distance, but to shout back for him feels impossible. )
...Thank you for doing me the kindness of lying.
( because lying to someone about how much you don't want them dead when you totally, absolutely do is a really nice thing, when you think about it.
he sighs out a breath that feels like it might be his last, and with it, some fighting spirit within him sends out an beacon of light. it's faint, what he sends up into the air, but it glows so strangely that it's impossible not to notice. at its source lies a crumpled heap of clothing and feathers that may or may not be anders. his fresh wings are tacky with blood, like newborn's, and the shoulder blades where they stem from are rocky with splintered bone. all over, painful golden patterns crack his skin, not unlike when he's occupied by justice.
despite how horrific it is, this isn't something anders wouldn't be able to heal... except for now. without his magic, he can't do anything. he doesn't know who he is without that connection to the vast beyond, a connection that seems to be failing him.
he'd always said he'd prefer death to that. )