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Other Wren is trying to make a point. I’ve been fighting her for so long, but here I am, relying on her strength. Sure, I’ve been ‘trying’ to merge us the way we should be, but if I am being honest, I could’ve tried harder. Part of me is afraid to let her in, to lose that level of control.
I’ve lost it anyway.
Sensing my agreement and apprehension, I can feel her almost soften towards me.I am not the enemy. I am you. We are one soul separated and will not be our strongest until we are united.
Everything is right.
So why can’t we merge now?
I want to. She wants to.
We are stuck.
I worry that the raw unstoppable urge to kill, rip, and destroy– the one that consumed me on my first several feedings. Will it worm its way back to the surface and take control of me?
It’s your fear.
My fear is what is stopping us?
Well, we are royally fucked then. I can’t just make my fear of losing control go away. I’ve killed far too many people and don’t want to be a murderer anymore.
With me, you will have that control. We don’t have to kill.
Everything I’ve seen so far tells me otherwise.
A pit forms in my stomach. I don’t like where this is going, and it won’t get us any closer to merging. If we can’t do that, then we need to plan. We need to come up with some other way to get out. We can’t just rely on me clinging to the darkest parts of my soul.
He’s going to torture us.
I shudder, remembering the bare description Oz gave me. I can only imagine what Emerson has planned for me.
Oz will be here soon. I know it. We can make it out of here.
You’re weak.
Excuse the fuck out of me?
You think this darkness is to be feared, that it is evil, but it’s your fault we can’t stop ourselves when we feed. I need you to keep me grounded, and if you don’t merge, we will just keep killing. It doesn’t bother me, but if it bothers you and you won’t do what you must to stop it, you’re weak.
I ignore her. I am done with this conversation.
Our arms are sore from being locked behind us all day, the thirst is taking over, and I am arguing with myself.
I don’t see how the fuck we are going to make it until Oz gets here.
Oz.
I tried calling him at the mountain, and I try again now, but I can’t sense anything. I am so weak, maybe he can hear me even if I can’t hear him. I am doing my best not to give up. She doesn’t want to help me plan, and I don’t have the energy to convince both of us that this is our way out anymore.
A door slams shut, and Emerson’s heavy steps grow closer. We straighten our posture, trying to hide the weakness brought on by our separation and hunger. We won’t give him the satisfaction.
“I trust my guest had a nice relaxing day.” A sadistic smile spreads across his face as he takes us in. He can tell that we are wearing down.
Turning to Leland’s body, Emerson fingers the hilt of his creator’s sword. “It seems rather poetic that I took his life with his weapon.” Pulling it from its sheath, he places the point at our throat. “Would you like to have fun with it too? I’ll rip you open with it if you want.”
He is truly despicable.
Squaring our shoulders and jutting out our chin, we silently challenge Emerson. We are going to do our best to keep it together. Show him that we aren’t afraid of him.
