[pm] Did you know these worms are praying to you like you're some sort of worm god? They're lamenting that their king has not returned. They have a worm prophecy about a new worm princess which is a sentence I had to hear and then write and am probably going to delete because I don't know if I'm even going to send you this!
I'm probably not going to send you this.
I'm just mad at you for leaving me with a bunch of worms and a weird sense of feeling normal for once after a whole bunch of shitty months you don't know about. It was nice investigating something and feeling useful again. It was nice being able to feel normal, rather than some messed up poor excuse for a warden. And then I went and spoiled it all by saying something stupid like my door is open after talking about your ass, and now I have a bunch of worms lamenting you and a glass of wine you said isn't worth my money. And I still kind of wish, despite it, that you're going to message me about some case or something, and I have an excuse to feel quasi-normal again.
[...]
The worms said to tell you hi.
[ user stares at all of this, then deletes it all. no message sent ]
[ several times over the past few days, user has looked at diana's contact on his phone. he's thought of calling her, of telling her everything: that he died, a year ago now. that he didn't stay that way. that he rose up as something different, something worse, something that no hunter wants to be. he's thought about telling her about the siren that dug talons into his chest and ripped his heart out, thought about telling her of the woman in owen's apartment whose throat he tore out, thought about telling her about the surges and about rosemary's father and about daiyu and talia and how he almost did something no hunter would ever do. he's even thought about telling her about eve in the alley, about the way she told him she loved him before she left him to die and about how he was surprised by it even though he knew he shouldn't have been.
he's thought about telling her all of this, because he remembers the worms. he remembers how gentle she was with them, how caring. he remembers the way she set them in the shade even though she didn't have to, remembers the way her perspective of herself -- that she is some monstrous thing because she as born a hunter -- seems so laughable in the wake of it. he's wondered if telling her about him will make her think more kindly of herself; he's wondered if giving her a real monster to compare to will make her see that she is not one.
it is not entirely a selfless thing, of course. nothing ever is, is it? he thinks he could make her feel better, giving her something to compare to. yes, he thinks it would help her. but he thinks of her, and the way he is gentle, and he thinks of how badly he wants someone to be gentle with him, too. despite his claims to the contrary, despite the way he seeks out violence instead. he thinks of the worms and the way she set them so carefully in the shade, and he wants someone to set him in the shade with just as much care.
he knows he doesn't deserve it. he knows what he deserves is the sight of eve's back to him in the alley as she makes her leave. he deserves a glaive in his shoulder; he deserves the rage twisted in rowan's expression. he deserves to die in a thousand alleys, over and over and over again.
he can want the gentleness. he can want the shade. he can imagine telling her, can invent stories where she tells him it's okay. but he cannot let himself have it. he can want, but he can only want.
what he can have, what he is allowed to hold between his fingers, is the bloody mess of his shoulder. it throbs and it aches and he deserves so much worse. he knows he does.
he picks up the phone. he looks at her contact. he does not type a message. he does not hit call.]
[ no message received. ]
