The words that Woe uses are ones that Anna might have heard, once or twice, in the odd medical drama. She has absolutely no practical knowledge of what Woe is telling her. If this were an actual lesson, she might be listening. But Anna is caught deep within her own head, and maybe it's the walk into a new layer of reality, maybe it's being slammed so directly with her biggest trauma point for the second time, maybe it's so many other things, but she barely feels present this whole time. She doesn't know how to feel other than numb.
It's what she had wanted the least and something she had spent her life running from. That someone would be able to come along and just... control her. Like she was programmed. Like someone said or did something, and she had no choice but to follow. It's happening again. She remembers a binding curse on her legs, sending her to the ground, forcing her to crawl into the house that had torn her heart from her body because it was the safer option.
(She thinks of home.)
Her eye is glassy when it's open, and the darkness when it's forced shut is no comfort. She sees a creature of meat and eyeballs, she smells formaldehyde and leaking halogen, she hears a whine forged by years of standing too close to speakers and the click-click-click of a reel in a projector. It's happening again. She remembers the worlds swirling around her, vying to champion her body. Every piece of it, all at once, the thousand lives that make her up crashing into her, spears to her joints, knives to the fragile strings holding her together.
(She begs for help.)
Someone's eye opens, not by choice, and their brow furrows like all of this chafes. They narrow their eye as soon as they have the chance, their gaze fixing on this woman in a strange way—depth and height are both wrong. They reach to their hip for a blade that isn't there, not realizing that it's on their back instead, and they brush hair from their face so they can deliver a proper miserable, murderous scowl.
The voice they use is level, but firm. A road frozen with black ice. Utterly vacant of the casual irreverence the other girl's voice used. "If you don't want me to vent your spleen, you'll think twice about trying that again."
cw: trauma, dissociation, etc
It's what she had wanted the least and something she had spent her life running from. That someone would be able to come along and just... control her. Like she was programmed. Like someone said or did something, and she had no choice but to follow. It's happening again. She remembers a binding curse on her legs, sending her to the ground, forcing her to crawl into the house that had torn her heart from her body because it was the safer option.
(She thinks of home.)
Her eye is glassy when it's open, and the darkness when it's forced shut is no comfort. She sees a creature of meat and eyeballs, she smells formaldehyde and leaking halogen, she hears a whine forged by years of standing too close to speakers and the click-click-click of a reel in a projector. It's happening again. She remembers the worlds swirling around her, vying to champion her body. Every piece of it, all at once, the thousand lives that make her up crashing into her, spears to her joints, knives to the fragile strings holding her together.
(She begs for help.)
Someone's eye opens, not by choice, and their brow furrows like all of this chafes. They narrow their eye as soon as they have the chance, their gaze fixing on this woman in a strange way—depth and height are both wrong. They reach to their hip for a blade that isn't there, not realizing that it's on their back instead, and they brush hair from their face so they can deliver a proper miserable, murderous scowl.
The voice they use is level, but firm. A road frozen with black ice. Utterly vacant of the casual irreverence the other girl's voice used. "If you don't want me to vent your spleen, you'll think twice about trying that again."