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vvitchsdesireTitle: everywhere i go i drag this coffin (just in case)
Fandom: Something Dark and Holy
Rating: G
Wordcount: 305
Summary: Malachiasz: it felt half-curse, half-blessing.
Malachiasz. Malachiasz. Malachiasz. The name was repeated like a mantra every time he wasn't busy being turned into a Vulture. People shouldn't see their guts rearranged in the floor and live to tell the tale, degraded with names that weren't his own (Malachiasz, he repeats it once more so it'll stick) as older Vultures laugh at his screams.
It's fine. It's fine. It's…
He's back at his cell. He doesn't remember being sewn up and sent back. His head hurts, a dull ache that throbs with his every thought. The ceiling is blank, and when Malachiasz directs his eyes to the door, he wonders when this will end.
There's a tiredness to his bones, or maybe they're just feeling sore because he's been growing claws lately, anatomy changing to support the longer bones. His back feels like there's a ton of rocks weighing him down - side effect from the wings, of the new muscles needed for him to take flight.
Every day was the same. Every day he (Malachiasz, a murmur as soft as wind) was opened, rearranged, made into a perfect mold of what they wished he would be, instead of what he was. He was tired.
Malachiasz coughed some blood up, staining his pale skin, and he wondered if this entire being alive thing was worth the suffering. There was no one that would care if he died, after all.
He opened his eyes, the boy in the dark with his name clinging to his lips. Malachiasz: it felt half-curse, half-blessing. He had to get out, free his wings from the inky darkness.
Malachiasz had fought for so long to keep himself, keep his name, keep his sense of identity grounded, know who he is and what he was doing. He would not let something as stupid as death take it from him.
