GET UP was the challenge.

SHUT UP was the answer.

…well, that and a crash, a battering-ram into flesh, a demon unfurling his wings and charging, launching like a tower of ivory straight at me—

--into my mouth—

--and he was barging into me, his shoulder throwing itself into the center of my breast—all of his thick weight hurtling and throwing me away from him—

--and my jaw clamped down on my tongue and there was a sharp snck! and something warm was starting to gush in my mouth along with the taste of iron and salt--

--and I stumbled away from him, damn-near bustin’ my ass on the grass as the force of his shove coursed through me. I glared at him, my eyes hot irons—but I shut up, partly because of the blood that I continued to swallow and swallow and swallow so he couldn’t see—

--but mostly because he was swinging.

*"Do you think I'm—?"*

What? I challenged in my head, mute for the time being, my face and my mouth all scrunched up around a tongue that was split in agony and much, much too tender to allow to touch anything inside my mouth. My eyes had already been wet, so the tears fell easily; thick droplets spilling from my lids, even though, by all rights, they should have been evaporated under the heat of my eyes. Battle blood was pumping through me (choking me, flowing from my tongue--) and all of my exhausted nerves screamed for a fight and he was looking at me—

--furious--

--and something rose in me, powerful and grappling with this wild, searing hatred that boiled in my gut, something that soared on wings of white where the hatred gurgled and grumbled and curdled like something spoiled—

--but he caught me off guard with his words—the cracked things he was saying to
me. He shocked me so much that my ears perked forward to hear him and my mouth started pooling with unchecked bloodflow.

Angel.

I see it in their eyes—I hear it in their words—angel.

But then that light goes out. And they realize that it was just a trick of the light.

I watched him crystallize—a deep-freeze settling on his features. My hairs stood on end and my mane became a jagged beehive as I watched something perfect and glacial settle on his features—I watched as his eyes turned blue, so blue, and dark with a thing that angered me and scared me so much more. I wondered—I dreaded--if I was finally looking at the stallion who stood before me. I wondered if I was seeing the real chronicle I had dubbed “Leos”, the true legacy that hid beneath layers and layers of frost and falsely warm blood. I wondered if there was a reason O-phelia could talk to him, convince him that stealing a home and letting massacre lay at your feet was a good thing, a just thing that could be condoned.

The fear in me was real; my eyes sparked and blood-stained teeth were bared, because my heart was breaking and I was so scared that my hunch was right and Lee had never, ever existed in the first place.



….but.

…but then he—broke again.

It shattered (again), that second meticulous mask of a murderer—it fell and shattered against grass and marble stones and suddenly I was looking at a man I had met on a moonlit beach before the shadows had swooped in around us—I was looking at a man I had found on top of the world, the tears frozen to his face and his voice croaking from his chest in much the same way—

I don't want to live like this anymore.

(I'm falling apart--)

--and it was suddenly possible that I could be looking at a man I called Leos.

“Then do—“ I started—choking for a minute, because I had forgotten to swallow the blood and it had pooled in my mouth, much too disgusting to shove in the back of my throat anymore. I spat it out, and my lip was stained with it a little but I kept talking despite the torture of talking with a bitten tongue, “Then don’t,” I tried again, and I spoke just as softly, my voice destroyed with the blood and the shouting and everything bubbling behind the scenes.

I stepped toward him.

“Lee…” I began—hesitant, because this was a delicate thing and I can’t think of my words before I speak them for some reason—but I was scared of letting my mouth run this time, unsure if it knew the right words at this moment. “….Lee,” I said again, the seconds (heartbeats) ticking by and willing my mouth into action, “Please, tell me. Please.” I took a shuddering breath. “Why did they fight? Why did you fight?”

I took another step towards him.

“Tell me so I can fix it,” I said, my voice tremulous and desperate and not even really believing in itself, either, “Tell me so I can at least try. Tell me so I can start. I don’t—I don’t understand.” I gulped the blood back. “I’m so lost, Lee. I can’t let it happen again but I’m so lost and I can’t patch a thing I can’t wrap my head around.”

I took another step.

And another.

“Are you tellin’ me the stallion I knew was nothing but a hoax?” And there was something dangerous there, on the tip of my blood-soaked tongue; something silent and slithering and ready to pounce his ass. “Are you tellin’ me the guy who shoved me away from the dark was an illusion? Are you tellin’ me the man that held me against my own stupid-ass destruction was all smoke and mirrors?”

Another step.

“Are you sayin’ the only reason I’m standing here now is because of a trick of the light?”

Because fuck you if that’s what you’re saying.

I reached for him—his chest, that place I had touched him before, a deja-vu moment but I didn’t care if it—if it did what it was supposed to do. It felt like a last chance; like I was groping the bottom of a black lagoon with my hooves and I was searching for Lee’s cold limp to grasp and pull from the mire. (But he had to be there, he had to exist--)

One step closer—another inch nearer to his chest.

I had gotten him on his feet—now I just needed to keep him together.

“…Leos,” I breathed, ruined voice inching out of ruined lips and battle-scared tongue, “….what do you want?”





[OH WUT DOUBLE 1K ALL THE WAY!?!]
"talk"