Sometimes they give a little, like the rind on a fruit. She brings her weight against them and they belly outward, rubbery, impermeable.
She turns. She twists. Her spine runs with wet fire. She chokes on nothing. But always there are the edges.
Sometimes, something solid lingers against them, something broad and vast.
The edges are cold. She is cold.
The darkness pushes in. It is not her, and so she can thread it around herself. It tastes of things she once knew words for.
She presses against the ragged scraps of herself, and for a moment, she hears voices.
Something lingers beyond them, waiting. Waiting for her. Her back arches in desperation, and her fingers touch the fraying edge.
She has fingers.
She has a throat. She swallows, spitting the burnt sugar taste of magic, gags and gags again.
Still, the edges hold her back. She presses against them, feelsthe rind of her skull flex and shift. She is near to something.
Exhausted. Unsure.
The edges fall around her in folds of grey, and she almost sinks back into darkness.
Almost. And then from those edges, a soft golden light, like a kindled lamp.
Gold light, sweet as sugar, humming with its own soft rhythm. Something moving in the light, ambered muscle and burnished scale. It butts against her like a hungry kitten. Then it speaks.
hellowhatis
She struggles to respond, hanging wordless. Language chokes her throat.
hellowhatisneedwant
Desperate, she presses against the edges, seeking the shape of a reply.
hellowhatis
She wants to speak. She can’t.
goneis
Rage flares in her, and the golden light flares in response so furiously that she flinches. Sheflinches.
notgoneis
The voice is stronger now, distinctly curious. She moves frantically, trying to hold its attention, battering herself against the edges, until pain fills her. Pain. She’s here, and she’s hurting. She hurls herself towards the light.
Nonononono. She replies. Shereplies. She is. Not gone.
Its response is quick as a fish in a pond.
hellowhatis
She strains against the edge, presses herself against the gold. She can taste it, bright and warm, sticky and sweet.
hungryisfragmentis
She swallows the gold light down. The edges shudder and purr. The thing inside moves closer. A tendril of golden light. A curious claw.
