Part of him wishes he didn't have to fucking feel this, wishes he didn't have to go through with this, that his fucking wings didn't fall off, like dead leaves on a tree in autumn. It felt like something in him died, something important, his own fucking limbs just fell off, dropped off, like they weren't important, and he hated seeing shreds of them littering the floor like that didn't mean anything. He wanted to hold the pieces close, like they were something precious, things that have carried him over so many battle fields, reliable, and then they just drop off? Leaving him feeling broken? It was fucked.
But Lysunder knows his body needs this, and he knows it's for the better. Those wings that fell off... they were like strands of hair he would lose day to day, they weren't something to mourn over, even if this hell was something he'd never really wish on anyone, like taking crutches from a man with a broken leg.
Heh.
A small, bitter laugh. Was he like that then? A broken man?
And then another jerk and his body crouches again, back arching as the plates shift again and two points pressing up through his shine shift around under the layer with a lurching sound as they move.
"Ah, haa... ha..ha ha ha... fuck, fuck y-you. Fuck this," without crying, it sounds like crying, tears filling his eyes as the points move about again and he keeps his teeth clenched tight, the sobs like dry laughter. He tries to tug his hand away again, wanting to move away, not wanting to be seen like this, not wanting it to fucking hurt so bad, not wanting to be such a fucking pussy about it. But it's like fire is shooting through his system, his body prepared for this pain, but his mind isn't and he shakes again as two more points press up against his skin, making it four. They move about a little before all four go still and he breathes deep, feeling sweat coat his skin, his lungs rasping as he tries to catch up on breathing.
"I don't like this, like y-you here, seeing this bullshit." The word gasps out, and he takes a deep breath, quickly moving his free hand up to rub hard on his eyes.
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But Lysunder knows his body needs this, and he knows it's for the better. Those wings that fell off... they were like strands of hair he would lose day to day, they weren't something to mourn over, even if this hell was something he'd never really wish on anyone, like taking crutches from a man with a broken leg.
Heh.
A small, bitter laugh. Was he like that then? A broken man?
And then another jerk and his body crouches again, back arching as the plates shift again and two points pressing up through his shine shift around under the layer with a lurching sound as they move.
"Ah, haa... ha..ha ha ha... fuck, fuck y-you. Fuck this," without crying, it sounds like crying, tears filling his eyes as the points move about again and he keeps his teeth clenched tight, the sobs like dry laughter. He tries to tug his hand away again, wanting to move away, not wanting to be seen like this, not wanting it to fucking hurt so bad, not wanting to be such a fucking pussy about it. But it's like fire is shooting through his system, his body prepared for this pain, but his mind isn't and he shakes again as two more points press up against his skin, making it four. They move about a little before all four go still and he breathes deep, feeling sweat coat his skin, his lungs rasping as he tries to catch up on breathing.
"I don't like this, like y-you here, seeing this bullshit." The word gasps out, and he takes a deep breath, quickly moving his free hand up to rub hard on his eyes.