Writerverse: Table of Doom - A Doorway to Hell
More I Prefer the Mind Control, as I play around in this verse and see what ultimately ends up happening in it. I hope you enjoy!
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“Dylan, you should try not to panic so much,” Xan murmurs.
I look at him like he’s lost his mind. Because he fucking has. I pace back and forth in my living room, trying to keep my...everything from exploding. Or imploding. I’m not sure which is more likely, but something’s gonna burst. Lucky my apartment in the Zimaran Palace is fucking huge, so there’s lots of room to pace. And panic.
“I shouldn’t panic that one of the guys at the head of the Empire wants to meet with me? In private? What, does he wanna murder me or something?” I say.
“If my father were going to have you murdered, he would be a lot more surreptitious about it. And definitely not do it himself,” Xan says as he leans back on the couch, all relaxed and stuff. He half-smiles, like the idea is fucking funny.
Me? I’m still scared I’m gonna get murdered. This isn’t like when we first came to the Palace, and Preston, Bonnie and I all met King Cenyl and his partner Prince Myd while Xan was there. Then, there were other people involved, and I didn’t have to try and have a fucking conversation with one of the rulers of an interplanetary Empire.
Have I mentioned how Zimaran political structures make my brain hurt? They’re weird as all hell, because Myd was the one in line to the throne, but he’s only a prince consort because he’s the Broken partner in his Soulbonding.
“Even if he doesn’t wanna kill me, what does he want with me?” I ask, still pacing.
Xan shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m afraid. He might...” He trails off, and there’s an awkward fucking pause. “...want to know about the state of your relationship with me.”
My heart stops. That makes perfect sense. But it’s no less terrifying. In fact, talking to your sorta-boyfriend’s dad is one of the scariest things, like, ever. My own dad sure freaked Xan out, which might have had something to do with how he threatened to toss Xan into a pit of fire-breathing hedgehogs.
I put my face in my hands. “That’s not any better. I don’t even know where we fucking stand,” I mutter, the sound muffled by my hands.
“Come sit down. You have a few minutes before you have to head over there, and pacing doesn’t seem to be helping,” Xan says, patting the space next to him on the couch.
He’s right -- pacing isn’t fucking helping. I sit down next to Xan and try to ignore how my heart has some kinda vendetta against my ribcage, what with how it’s pounding against it.
Xan smiles. “Well, I know I like you,” he says.
I like him, too. Liking him’s what got me into this weird fucking situation in the first place. His feelings dragged me to this planet. Then they split up me and Bonnie because I was stupid enough to think I could handle two partners at once. Turns out, my girlfriend and I hadn’t actually communicated so well -- I couldn’t balance the right amount of attention for two significant others, either. Told Bonnie I would stop going out with Xan to prove I could be a good boyfriend to her, since I loved her and wasn’t sure how much I felt for him. We tried that, and it didn’t work. I missed Xan too much, among other things.
“I like you, too. But I dumped you because I suck at people stuff. And caused a media clusterfuck,” I mutter.
The Zimaran public blamed Bonnie for splitting up me and Xan. Apparently, they thought we made a good couple, and they still think so. Bonnie and I broke up when I didn’t support her enough during all that bullshit. She said she’d never fit in all that well on Zimara, which she would have dealt with fine if I would have just acted like I actually care about her.
Xan raises an eyebrow. “The media frenzy was unfair to Bonnie, but the people here do like you, so you can’t say you entirely ‘suck at people stuff.’ And I still like you, even after everything.’”
“I still think I’m gonna be murdered,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. He can’t prove I won’t be murdered.
Yeah, I know logically I won’t. Shut up, logic isn’t my friend today, okay?
* * *
Xan and I walk towards Prince Myd’s apartment -- I’ve seen pictures, and it makes Xan’s place in the Palace look like a shack. I glare at him and cross my arms over my chest as we walk. He can’t go in with me, but I need the, like, moral support.
“If I am killed, I’m gonna come back as a ghost and haunt you so hard you’ll see stars,” I mutter.
That just makes him laugh softly. “You’re aware that Zimarans don’t believe in ghosts, right?” he murmurs.
I stick my tongue out at him. “Well, I’m a fucking human, so I’ll come back as a ghost if I want to,” I say.
He laughs again, and I can’t help laughing with him, though I sound kinda hysterical. Xan takes my hand, and I let him.
At least I get my high-pitched deranged-hyena laughter under control once we arrive at Prince Myd’s door? It’s a double door, black with a geometric silver design and silver handles. It looks too fucking...grand to be the door to someone’s apartment, but, of course, royalty would do things way fancier than normal.
Two invisible bodyguards appear outta nowhere, one on either side. All the royal bodyguards are cyborgs with silver streaks running through their skin and bright silver eyes. These are no exception. My heart pounds seeing them and I squeeze Xan’s hand, though of course I’ve seen cyborg bodyguards before. Xan has them -- they’re probably following us right now.
They bow to Xan, who makes the usual “you can stop that now” gesture. I get the weirdest feeling they were bowing to me, too, which is just stupid levels of arrogant, as I’m a commoner and not Xan’s official anything. Even if I am holding his hand.
“We’re here,” Xan murmurs.
The bodyguards nod. “I’ll notify Prince Myd,” the one on my left says.
“I’m sorry, Prince Xan, but you do need to leave now,” the other one says.
Xan lets go of my hand, and I look at him, trying not to lose it. He hugs me, and I hug him back, though I’m startled as all hell. I’m not fucking clinging, okay?
“You’ll be fine. Good luck,” he whispers before he lets go.
“Yeah, thanks,” I mutter.
He leaves, and I wait.
In no time at all, the doors open outwards, revealing a man who looks freakishly like Xan, only, like, thirty years older. My heart tries to fucking destroy my ribcage as I fail to meet Prince Myd’s eyes. They’re bronze, like Xan’s. His shoulder-length hair is lighter, a warm dark brown rather than jet black, but pretty much everything else looks like someone cloned Xan and stuck the clone in an aging machine.
Well, okay, not everything about him is a Xan-clone, if you count his clothes. They’re...not covering much. His silver shirt, with short sleeves and a high neckline, manages to be skimpy as fuck on account of how it’s see-through. The only part of the shirt that’s not transparent is the small black symbol of the Zimaran Empire over the left side of his chest. His little black shorts are little, and, um, show off his size. And he’s wearing a legit collar -- it’s silver, maybe an inch and a half wide, and has the Zimaran Empire’s symbol in the middle. This symbol isn’t black -- it somehow shifts through all the colors of the rainbow and glows slightly.
And I’m fucking staring, even though skimpy clothes are the norm for any Broken partner in a Soulbroken pair. It’s just weird to meet with the Prince Consort, and he looks way too much like Xan.
Prince Myd fucking smiles at me. Um, am I supposed to bow or something? Not knowing what to do, I decide to bow. He gestures for me to stop, and, when I’m fully upright again, my face burns as my heart keeps fighting with my ribcage. After that, Prince Myd smiles at me even more. Yay?
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Why don’t you come in?” he says, gesturing to the inside of his apartment.
I follow him inside. “It’s not like I could refuse. If I tried, you could have me turned into Silly Putty,” I mutter.
That makes him laugh, reminding me of how Xan laughed. At least he sounds pretty friendly?
His apartment is wildly alien, with typical Zimaran curves and black-and-silver everything. Well, everything’s black and silver when it’s not rainbow or crystal or rainbow crystal. There’s even a fucking mobile hanging from the ceiling in the living room -- it’s some kinda crystal and cycles through all the colors of the fucking rainbow through no technology I can understand. There’s gotta be, like, seven different layers to the thing, each bar having circular panel whatsits dangling from it. The bars aren’t all even, either, so it’s complicated enough to make my panicked head spin.
“Do you like the mobile?” Prince Myd asks, obviously catching me staring at it.
“Yeah, I like it. Fancy shit,” I say. Then my face burns at my amazingly proper use of language.
He doesn’t seem mad, though, just gestures for me to sit on the couch next to him. “My brother made it -- he became quite devoted to his art after he wasn’t Chosen for the throne,” he says.
There’s even two glasses of Zimaran Blue on the coffee table in front of us. I sit down, though I keep my eyes off him.
I gesture at the drinks. “Am I allowed to, uh, drink that?” I ask.
Prince Myd picks up his glass. “Of course, that’s what they’re there for. There’s no need to be so nervous, Dylan. You’re not in trouble, and this isn’t a formal occasion,” he says.
“So you’re not gonna turn me into a Silly Putty ghost? Uh...Your Highness?” I mutter.
That gets more fucking laughter. At least it’s a friendly chuckle? “No, no, and we don’t believe in ghosts here,” he says, shaking his head. “And you may call me Myd. I don’t mind.”
Right. As much as I’ve come to like this planet despite all the fuckery I’ve gone through, I keep forgetting about the stupid lack of ghosts. That makes my paranoia so much less approrpriate.
“So...why am I here?” I say.
“I wanted to know how things were going with you,” he says.
Know how things are fucking going? Myd isn’t my guidance counselor, and this isn’t high school. I take a sip of my Zimaran Blue. “How things are going? With, um, what exactly?” I say.
He takes his own sip. “If I am going to be honest, I wanted to know how things were with you and Xan,” he says.
Wait, what?
“You’ll have to ask someone else, because...I’m not fucking sure,” I mutter, taking another sip. Drinking is easier than talking, as my face wants to burn off. It’s so hot you could cook an egg on it if you felt like it, though that would be really gross.
“He likes you very much, you know. And I want to see my child happy,” Myd says. He looks at me, and I can’t avoid his way-too-Xan-like eyes.
“And you think I could make him happy? I mean, doesn’t he, like, need a partner with...staying power or whatever?” I mutter, taking yet another sip of ZB because I just don’t know what to do with myself.
“You think you do not have staying power? The Zimaran public would disagree,” he says, raising an eyebrow slightly.
“Well...doesn’t he, like, need a partner who can Soulbreak with him? And I don’t get why people seem to like me,” I say, not that I trust media and public opinion with my romantic life.
“Zimarans like you because you’ve accepted their customs with enthusiasm and simply...have a manner of fitting in here. Xan himself is well-liked and so people would look favorably on anyone who makes him happy,” he says, nodding.
“It’s not like your customs are hard to follow,” I say, before my stomach swoops -- Bonnie hadn’t exactly found them easy to follow. But, for me, it was too easy to like a planet where one of the major pastimes is “majorly hot mind control sex.”
“Most humans would disagree,” Myd says, giving me a way too intense look. “Delegates have been horrified by my very appearance and the simple fact of my relationship with my Breaker.”
Zimarans don’t exactly do equal relationships, except for some rebellious factions. The mainstream, though? Everything is about one person controlling the other, which is fine by me but freaks out most people. On some level, I fucking know that most humans don’t get Zimarans, but Zimaran behavior has always seemed perfectly cool to me, including the “widespread voluntary sex slavery” thing.
“You’re not horrifying,” I say, shaking my head. “Though I am still terrified of being turned into a ghost, no matter how much you don’t believe in them.”
Myd smiles at me. “And thinking such makes you different.”
“Well, yeah, okay, maybe a little. But...can humans even do a Soulbreaking?” I say. My face gets hot enough it would burn any eggs someone tried to cook on it when I realize the implications of what I said.
He frowns in thought. “I think you could, if you wanted to. From what I’ve heard, your mind is extremely compatible with the mind control,” he says.
I take another sip of Zimaran Blue -- it’s gotta be hitting me, because I’m way more relaxed than I should be. Relaxed enough to ask something I shouldn’t. “Um...what does it feel like? I mean, having your, uh, soul broken? Does that, like...hurt?” I murmur.
His eyes get...dreamy? “Soulbreaking doesn’t happen all at once. But the process? It is the most...exquisite agony and ecstasy. The...purest sensations, when everything comes together as you’re broken apart and remade into something better,” he says. Myd’s staring at fucking nothing, as if recalling his fondest memory ever. He probably is.
“Nothing could be more loving than having someone you trust with your very soul, someone you want to belong to,” he continues. “You lose your personhood in the process, and it is so freeing to let someone else take it from you. Describing the physical feelings? I’m not sure there are any words to describe the transcendence of it all.” Yeah, his eyes are fucking faraway now, and I’m not entirely sure he remembers I’m even here.
Something occurs to me. I put my drink down and shift in my seat. “Um...do humans even have souls by your definition? Are you really sure I could do a Soulbreaking?” I ask. The air in here feels...weird after hearing Myd’s little speech. And why am I even asking if I have a soul?
He presses one finger to my forehead, causing my eyes to widen. What is he doing?
“You have a soul. Do not doubt that,” he says. “I know enough to see it in you. I wouldn’t encourage you and Xan if I thought you lacked one.” He removes his finger from my forehead, and I realize I’ve been holding my fucking breath.
My mind swirls and fucking spins. I grab the armrest of the couch because I’m that unsteady. This conversation has not been going in the direction I expected. Okay, I expected a lot more murder, but you know. I have no idea what to think, but my mind’s exploding with possibilities, no matter that they’re fucking outrageous.
What would happen if I did let Xan try to Break me?
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“Dylan, you should try not to panic so much,” Xan murmurs.
I look at him like he’s lost his mind. Because he fucking has. I pace back and forth in my living room, trying to keep my...everything from exploding. Or imploding. I’m not sure which is more likely, but something’s gonna burst. Lucky my apartment in the Zimaran Palace is fucking huge, so there’s lots of room to pace. And panic.
“I shouldn’t panic that one of the guys at the head of the Empire wants to meet with me? In private? What, does he wanna murder me or something?” I say.
“If my father were going to have you murdered, he would be a lot more surreptitious about it. And definitely not do it himself,” Xan says as he leans back on the couch, all relaxed and stuff. He half-smiles, like the idea is fucking funny.
Me? I’m still scared I’m gonna get murdered. This isn’t like when we first came to the Palace, and Preston, Bonnie and I all met King Cenyl and his partner Prince Myd while Xan was there. Then, there were other people involved, and I didn’t have to try and have a fucking conversation with one of the rulers of an interplanetary Empire.
Have I mentioned how Zimaran political structures make my brain hurt? They’re weird as all hell, because Myd was the one in line to the throne, but he’s only a prince consort because he’s the Broken partner in his Soulbonding.
“Even if he doesn’t wanna kill me, what does he want with me?” I ask, still pacing.
Xan shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m afraid. He might...” He trails off, and there’s an awkward fucking pause. “...want to know about the state of your relationship with me.”
My heart stops. That makes perfect sense. But it’s no less terrifying. In fact, talking to your sorta-boyfriend’s dad is one of the scariest things, like, ever. My own dad sure freaked Xan out, which might have had something to do with how he threatened to toss Xan into a pit of fire-breathing hedgehogs.
I put my face in my hands. “That’s not any better. I don’t even know where we fucking stand,” I mutter, the sound muffled by my hands.
“Come sit down. You have a few minutes before you have to head over there, and pacing doesn’t seem to be helping,” Xan says, patting the space next to him on the couch.
He’s right -- pacing isn’t fucking helping. I sit down next to Xan and try to ignore how my heart has some kinda vendetta against my ribcage, what with how it’s pounding against it.
Xan smiles. “Well, I know I like you,” he says.
I like him, too. Liking him’s what got me into this weird fucking situation in the first place. His feelings dragged me to this planet. Then they split up me and Bonnie because I was stupid enough to think I could handle two partners at once. Turns out, my girlfriend and I hadn’t actually communicated so well -- I couldn’t balance the right amount of attention for two significant others, either. Told Bonnie I would stop going out with Xan to prove I could be a good boyfriend to her, since I loved her and wasn’t sure how much I felt for him. We tried that, and it didn’t work. I missed Xan too much, among other things.
“I like you, too. But I dumped you because I suck at people stuff. And caused a media clusterfuck,” I mutter.
The Zimaran public blamed Bonnie for splitting up me and Xan. Apparently, they thought we made a good couple, and they still think so. Bonnie and I broke up when I didn’t support her enough during all that bullshit. She said she’d never fit in all that well on Zimara, which she would have dealt with fine if I would have just acted like I actually care about her.
Xan raises an eyebrow. “The media frenzy was unfair to Bonnie, but the people here do like you, so you can’t say you entirely ‘suck at people stuff.’ And I still like you, even after everything.’”
“I still think I’m gonna be murdered,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. He can’t prove I won’t be murdered.
Yeah, I know logically I won’t. Shut up, logic isn’t my friend today, okay?
* * *
Xan and I walk towards Prince Myd’s apartment -- I’ve seen pictures, and it makes Xan’s place in the Palace look like a shack. I glare at him and cross my arms over my chest as we walk. He can’t go in with me, but I need the, like, moral support.
“If I am killed, I’m gonna come back as a ghost and haunt you so hard you’ll see stars,” I mutter.
That just makes him laugh softly. “You’re aware that Zimarans don’t believe in ghosts, right?” he murmurs.
I stick my tongue out at him. “Well, I’m a fucking human, so I’ll come back as a ghost if I want to,” I say.
He laughs again, and I can’t help laughing with him, though I sound kinda hysterical. Xan takes my hand, and I let him.
At least I get my high-pitched deranged-hyena laughter under control once we arrive at Prince Myd’s door? It’s a double door, black with a geometric silver design and silver handles. It looks too fucking...grand to be the door to someone’s apartment, but, of course, royalty would do things way fancier than normal.
Two invisible bodyguards appear outta nowhere, one on either side. All the royal bodyguards are cyborgs with silver streaks running through their skin and bright silver eyes. These are no exception. My heart pounds seeing them and I squeeze Xan’s hand, though of course I’ve seen cyborg bodyguards before. Xan has them -- they’re probably following us right now.
They bow to Xan, who makes the usual “you can stop that now” gesture. I get the weirdest feeling they were bowing to me, too, which is just stupid levels of arrogant, as I’m a commoner and not Xan’s official anything. Even if I am holding his hand.
“We’re here,” Xan murmurs.
The bodyguards nod. “I’ll notify Prince Myd,” the one on my left says.
“I’m sorry, Prince Xan, but you do need to leave now,” the other one says.
Xan lets go of my hand, and I look at him, trying not to lose it. He hugs me, and I hug him back, though I’m startled as all hell. I’m not fucking clinging, okay?
“You’ll be fine. Good luck,” he whispers before he lets go.
“Yeah, thanks,” I mutter.
He leaves, and I wait.
In no time at all, the doors open outwards, revealing a man who looks freakishly like Xan, only, like, thirty years older. My heart tries to fucking destroy my ribcage as I fail to meet Prince Myd’s eyes. They’re bronze, like Xan’s. His shoulder-length hair is lighter, a warm dark brown rather than jet black, but pretty much everything else looks like someone cloned Xan and stuck the clone in an aging machine.
Well, okay, not everything about him is a Xan-clone, if you count his clothes. They’re...not covering much. His silver shirt, with short sleeves and a high neckline, manages to be skimpy as fuck on account of how it’s see-through. The only part of the shirt that’s not transparent is the small black symbol of the Zimaran Empire over the left side of his chest. His little black shorts are little, and, um, show off his size. And he’s wearing a legit collar -- it’s silver, maybe an inch and a half wide, and has the Zimaran Empire’s symbol in the middle. This symbol isn’t black -- it somehow shifts through all the colors of the rainbow and glows slightly.
And I’m fucking staring, even though skimpy clothes are the norm for any Broken partner in a Soulbroken pair. It’s just weird to meet with the Prince Consort, and he looks way too much like Xan.
Prince Myd fucking smiles at me. Um, am I supposed to bow or something? Not knowing what to do, I decide to bow. He gestures for me to stop, and, when I’m fully upright again, my face burns as my heart keeps fighting with my ribcage. After that, Prince Myd smiles at me even more. Yay?
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Why don’t you come in?” he says, gesturing to the inside of his apartment.
I follow him inside. “It’s not like I could refuse. If I tried, you could have me turned into Silly Putty,” I mutter.
That makes him laugh, reminding me of how Xan laughed. At least he sounds pretty friendly?
His apartment is wildly alien, with typical Zimaran curves and black-and-silver everything. Well, everything’s black and silver when it’s not rainbow or crystal or rainbow crystal. There’s even a fucking mobile hanging from the ceiling in the living room -- it’s some kinda crystal and cycles through all the colors of the fucking rainbow through no technology I can understand. There’s gotta be, like, seven different layers to the thing, each bar having circular panel whatsits dangling from it. The bars aren’t all even, either, so it’s complicated enough to make my panicked head spin.
“Do you like the mobile?” Prince Myd asks, obviously catching me staring at it.
“Yeah, I like it. Fancy shit,” I say. Then my face burns at my amazingly proper use of language.
He doesn’t seem mad, though, just gestures for me to sit on the couch next to him. “My brother made it -- he became quite devoted to his art after he wasn’t Chosen for the throne,” he says.
There’s even two glasses of Zimaran Blue on the coffee table in front of us. I sit down, though I keep my eyes off him.
I gesture at the drinks. “Am I allowed to, uh, drink that?” I ask.
Prince Myd picks up his glass. “Of course, that’s what they’re there for. There’s no need to be so nervous, Dylan. You’re not in trouble, and this isn’t a formal occasion,” he says.
“So you’re not gonna turn me into a Silly Putty ghost? Uh...Your Highness?” I mutter.
That gets more fucking laughter. At least it’s a friendly chuckle? “No, no, and we don’t believe in ghosts here,” he says, shaking his head. “And you may call me Myd. I don’t mind.”
Right. As much as I’ve come to like this planet despite all the fuckery I’ve gone through, I keep forgetting about the stupid lack of ghosts. That makes my paranoia so much less approrpriate.
“So...why am I here?” I say.
“I wanted to know how things were going with you,” he says.
Know how things are fucking going? Myd isn’t my guidance counselor, and this isn’t high school. I take a sip of my Zimaran Blue. “How things are going? With, um, what exactly?” I say.
He takes his own sip. “If I am going to be honest, I wanted to know how things were with you and Xan,” he says.
Wait, what?
“You’ll have to ask someone else, because...I’m not fucking sure,” I mutter, taking another sip. Drinking is easier than talking, as my face wants to burn off. It’s so hot you could cook an egg on it if you felt like it, though that would be really gross.
“He likes you very much, you know. And I want to see my child happy,” Myd says. He looks at me, and I can’t avoid his way-too-Xan-like eyes.
“And you think I could make him happy? I mean, doesn’t he, like, need a partner with...staying power or whatever?” I mutter, taking yet another sip of ZB because I just don’t know what to do with myself.
“You think you do not have staying power? The Zimaran public would disagree,” he says, raising an eyebrow slightly.
“Well...doesn’t he, like, need a partner who can Soulbreak with him? And I don’t get why people seem to like me,” I say, not that I trust media and public opinion with my romantic life.
“Zimarans like you because you’ve accepted their customs with enthusiasm and simply...have a manner of fitting in here. Xan himself is well-liked and so people would look favorably on anyone who makes him happy,” he says, nodding.
“It’s not like your customs are hard to follow,” I say, before my stomach swoops -- Bonnie hadn’t exactly found them easy to follow. But, for me, it was too easy to like a planet where one of the major pastimes is “majorly hot mind control sex.”
“Most humans would disagree,” Myd says, giving me a way too intense look. “Delegates have been horrified by my very appearance and the simple fact of my relationship with my Breaker.”
Zimarans don’t exactly do equal relationships, except for some rebellious factions. The mainstream, though? Everything is about one person controlling the other, which is fine by me but freaks out most people. On some level, I fucking know that most humans don’t get Zimarans, but Zimaran behavior has always seemed perfectly cool to me, including the “widespread voluntary sex slavery” thing.
“You’re not horrifying,” I say, shaking my head. “Though I am still terrified of being turned into a ghost, no matter how much you don’t believe in them.”
Myd smiles at me. “And thinking such makes you different.”
“Well, yeah, okay, maybe a little. But...can humans even do a Soulbreaking?” I say. My face gets hot enough it would burn any eggs someone tried to cook on it when I realize the implications of what I said.
He frowns in thought. “I think you could, if you wanted to. From what I’ve heard, your mind is extremely compatible with the mind control,” he says.
I take another sip of Zimaran Blue -- it’s gotta be hitting me, because I’m way more relaxed than I should be. Relaxed enough to ask something I shouldn’t. “Um...what does it feel like? I mean, having your, uh, soul broken? Does that, like...hurt?” I murmur.
His eyes get...dreamy? “Soulbreaking doesn’t happen all at once. But the process? It is the most...exquisite agony and ecstasy. The...purest sensations, when everything comes together as you’re broken apart and remade into something better,” he says. Myd’s staring at fucking nothing, as if recalling his fondest memory ever. He probably is.
“Nothing could be more loving than having someone you trust with your very soul, someone you want to belong to,” he continues. “You lose your personhood in the process, and it is so freeing to let someone else take it from you. Describing the physical feelings? I’m not sure there are any words to describe the transcendence of it all.” Yeah, his eyes are fucking faraway now, and I’m not entirely sure he remembers I’m even here.
Something occurs to me. I put my drink down and shift in my seat. “Um...do humans even have souls by your definition? Are you really sure I could do a Soulbreaking?” I ask. The air in here feels...weird after hearing Myd’s little speech. And why am I even asking if I have a soul?
He presses one finger to my forehead, causing my eyes to widen. What is he doing?
“You have a soul. Do not doubt that,” he says. “I know enough to see it in you. I wouldn’t encourage you and Xan if I thought you lacked one.” He removes his finger from my forehead, and I realize I’ve been holding my fucking breath.
My mind swirls and fucking spins. I grab the armrest of the couch because I’m that unsteady. This conversation has not been going in the direction I expected. Okay, I expected a lot more murder, but you know. I have no idea what to think, but my mind’s exploding with possibilities, no matter that they’re fucking outrageous.
What would happen if I did let Xan try to Break me?