hero, or, the toll it takes
A/N: so this is a short thing i wrote in my probably ill-fated determination to Write More Things for NaNoWriMo, because i’m nowhere near ready for a novel but i do like writing things and i haven’t done it nearly enough. also there needs to be more fic about older hero and especially nonbinary older hero.
[ao3]
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In the years that follow, she’s never entirely sure how to reconcile the events that happened.
Part of her is convinced the whole thing was little more than a fever dream, the way that so many childhood memories fade. The entire situation is wholly unbelievable; it’s far more likely that she dreamed just before morning that a man came into her room and when she woke up hours or years later she’d simply dreamed the whole thing. But dreams will fade and this never does, too vivid, too impossible. There’s no explanation for the white scar on her knee or the coat that she never found or the thin, dark line running along her breastbone where her schism once was, normally almost invisible except on those dark, angry days when her chest feels hollow and when she peels off her shirt to shower, it’s stark against her skin. When she touches it, it feels like it almost begins to give.
Things stick with you: feelings, whispers, not-quite-sounds. Static.
Keep reading
