Chapter Text
The first thing he heard was the chirping of birds. He didn’t recognize where they came from, but it was enough information for him to suspect that he was outside. A breeze followed suit, cooling his right ear. His left one was firmly trapped against something cold and ticklish, but soft.
He was able to move a pair of fingers. Strange. Something tangled around them, slim as a thread. It was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.
If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that his arm was missing. Someone must have dismembered him while he was… flying about, across the void. Dark and thrilling, with those empty eyes following him. Those gooey yellow eyes, crying blood out of their corneas and chasing him with their long arms... It made him think of the moon, how it used to follow him around when he… when he… could —
Where was he? Whose voice was it? He couldn’t tell how long it had been since he had last seen the blurred face of it, but a tightening settled in his chest when he took on his short term memory. Well, if he wasn’t dead, he couldn’t say the same for it.
But he never died, did he?
He was alive. He was, really.
He breathed in a heady sigh, and began to choke on his own spit. His body convulsed and vomited out the contents in his stomach, nothing but bile coming out. His mouth tasted like metal and death. His nose collecting the stench of something putrid, like another debased corpse left running under the sun.
The next thing he felt was a shift - a change of position, then a pressure against his chest, and warm air being forced into his mouth.
“Get it out.”
The voice was back now, except it didn’t sound so grim. He had opened an eye, but it stung like the devil. Someone must had burnt them out of his sockets, just like that, and whomever was in charge of this thing, was eating him alive.
So strange, this feeling. This unwarranted despoil.
There was more air being forced into his throat, deep down, only for it to be gone as soon as it had come.
Sitting up sharply, he coughed out liquid, forming an endless puddle of —
“That’s it, out with it.”
He wished he could see something, but at least, the nightmare stalking him in dreams was gone, and the presence of having someone nearby gave him a sense of security. Though he could blessedly hear, he wondered if his mother had birthed him blind. If there was no chance for him to recover his sight.
“Can you see?”
He froze in an awkward position whilst his lungs struggled for air.
His answer came out as no more than a whisper. “No…”
“But you can speak, young man, and you understood me. So you’re not hollow. Not Yet. Huh?”
H-hollow…
The word sounded far from unfamiliar, yet he couldn’t puzzle out the mystery behind the name. Hollow. Or were they simply mocking him?
“My arm…” He gasped, for he was certain they had ripped it off while he was unconscious. “Where is it?”
A pause, then a chuckle. “Oh dear, you’ve got both arms intact. You may be feeling very numb still.”
He couldn’t be so sure whether they were being honest or were viciously lying to him, but before he could make up his mind, someone else spoke as well. It sounded muffled, as if they were talking from behind a wall. Still, he could distinguish a rougher tone.
" What’s wrong, Venus?”
“Just an ungrateful son of a bitch. I saved this one from drowning, and still no thanks coming from his disgusting mouth.”
He snarled, furious, clumsily forcing himself on his feet, though an abrupt pressure in his skull forced him back onto the ground. The soft, light tendrils tangling around his fingers felt indeed like grass. Even though it didn’t feel unpleasant, its unfamiliarity set off alarm bells in his head.
He wanted to make these voices many questions.
But the one that lingered at the forefront of his mind was the most frightening of all.
“Who am I?”
He spoke aloud, and immediately wished he hadn’t. At least, he was certain of his consciousness, plus he owned a body, as well as a mind. And if those individuals had a name… did it mean he had one, as well?
“Who are you?”
The voices were rendered silent, which stirred some fear inside him. He wanted to reach out with his hand and touch them, proving they were solid. His safety had proven to be illusive since he now felt as bare and helpless as a bird wounded in flight. It was unimaginable, truly undesirable.
The division of each anguish bound together to set a new force into motion.
When the voices began talking in a foreign language, he screamed in fear.
He scraped his fingernails against the grass under his skin with enough strength to peel through to touch the soil beneath. All the while, a stale, cold hand muffled his cries and heart pounding, trembling yells of terror. Another hand, with the same chilled bite, held his arms fast to restrain him from convulsing further. It was as if he were a stray animal, cornered and trapped to be tamed. The voices spoke again mysteriously. He was certain his time had finally come. Now, they would end his life, just as they had saved it.
When more hands came to still him on the ground, he deeply regretted not being able to see his surroundings. Someone had tied up his wrists, ankles, and his mouth was firmly muffled by a frayed piece of fabric. The soft and reassuring grass beneath his body was within reach no longer. He was being lifted up and carried towards an unknown destination, the voices communicating almost sternly, as if they were concealing their true emotions. He still detected a whit of triumph when the throbbing returned in his head.
Suddenly, one of them spoke back in his tongue. The words rumbled inside him, but he was uncapable of enthralling them.
“You're one of them.”