The lens it puts on everything is a dark one. All the decisions he's told he can make, all the worthwhile things he can do - in the end, meaningless. Pointless. An illusion of choice when he can affect nothing, do nothing about any of it except brace himself for the inevitable. His older self's efforts, simply some measure to try to make it easier to bear. That too is a kindness in its way, instead of fostering any hope of something truly being different.
The single week or so of being here on this foreign planet hasn't changed anything, couldn't change anything.
He isn't ready yet to consider throwing the train off its rails entirely. Maybe that would change, in the coming weeks and months. He has no friends to lose, no dear ones who can be threatened to make him comply, and that may eventually be a strength instead of a weakness. With nothing to lose, there's no need to fear failure.
The tiny row of dark scales along his collarbone is rubbed again, almost absently. They would multiply as time passed, far more horrific and painful changes waiting than such a minor thing. But for now it's a little trail of almost-black.
"....I think." He was here first, this was a good place to hide. "..I'd like to stay a little longer." It might be an illusion, but it's what he has. Nothing need be said. Plenty has been already. He can take what comfort he can from contact otherwise forbidden from crawling nerves and bad associations.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-12-13 03:36 pm (UTC)The single week or so of being here on this foreign planet hasn't changed anything, couldn't change anything.
He isn't ready yet to consider throwing the train off its rails entirely. Maybe that would change, in the coming weeks and months. He has no friends to lose, no dear ones who can be threatened to make him comply, and that may eventually be a strength instead of a weakness. With nothing to lose, there's no need to fear failure.
The tiny row of dark scales along his collarbone is rubbed again, almost absently. They would multiply as time passed, far more horrific and painful changes waiting than such a minor thing. But for now it's a little trail of almost-black.
"....I think." He was here first, this was a good place to hide. "..I'd like to stay a little longer." It might be an illusion, but it's what he has. Nothing need be said. Plenty has been already. He can take what comfort he can from contact otherwise forbidden from crawling nerves and bad associations.