Hnei'latta.
There were no more jokes.
His head burned, spread fire down his neck, up his back, across his skin. There were no jokes, the nohhua granted only one. Nothing stirred his lungs, his throat now, but the slow progression of time.
When he closed his eyes, he could hear them. They were loud and quiet, louder here, in this place that sounded like the whisper of the Enterprise, like traitor dinners under the banner of hope, android speak and silent, Vulcan nights. They wouldn't stop, not ever, and he hadn't heard Ayel's voice.
No familiar voices and everything around him saying nothing.
With his eyes open, he was caught up in the shine. It dragged him under the surface, pulled him through in liquid light and wouldn't let him stop seeing everything. He couldn't stop, nothing would let him, not sleep, or quiet, or stillness. His only respite was the most painful.
He opened his eyes and stared at Naele. She stared back, cold and sad as the light. His heart twisted, fought at his side, snagged on the cage around it as it tried to escape her. She could hear it, through the walls, through death, and it creased her brow. When he lifted his arm, hers followed.
Dead flesh had no feeling but what it imagined. She imagined better then him. Her name was rubbed green, the skin was raised with the lines of his fingers, flat furrows rubbed across muscles that weren't his. The lines wouldn't come off, burned into her bones as they were his.
There was no erasing the dead, not ever.
His fingers wound around the knife on the floor, twisted the handle until it creaked. His arm moved before his mind, hauled the blade high into the cold light. Fingers flinched and stopped him--Eihva. She stared at him through his arm, beneath the lines of green and black. The knife dangled and hit the floor with a dull clatter, the loudest sound in years.
Her name was curled into his wrist, once mourned and rightful. Even Naele's fingers couldn't press it hard, hide the new black. His breath shook and he closed his eyes again. They were talking still.
He'd drown either way, all surrounded by air and light.
His head burned, spread fire down his neck, up his back, across his skin. There were no jokes, the nohhua granted only one. Nothing stirred his lungs, his throat now, but the slow progression of time.
When he closed his eyes, he could hear them. They were loud and quiet, louder here, in this place that sounded like the whisper of the Enterprise, like traitor dinners under the banner of hope, android speak and silent, Vulcan nights. They wouldn't stop, not ever, and he hadn't heard Ayel's voice.
No familiar voices and everything around him saying nothing.
With his eyes open, he was caught up in the shine. It dragged him under the surface, pulled him through in liquid light and wouldn't let him stop seeing everything. He couldn't stop, nothing would let him, not sleep, or quiet, or stillness. His only respite was the most painful.
He opened his eyes and stared at Naele. She stared back, cold and sad as the light. His heart twisted, fought at his side, snagged on the cage around it as it tried to escape her. She could hear it, through the walls, through death, and it creased her brow. When he lifted his arm, hers followed.
Dead flesh had no feeling but what it imagined. She imagined better then him. Her name was rubbed green, the skin was raised with the lines of his fingers, flat furrows rubbed across muscles that weren't his. The lines wouldn't come off, burned into her bones as they were his.
There was no erasing the dead, not ever.
His fingers wound around the knife on the floor, twisted the handle until it creaked. His arm moved before his mind, hauled the blade high into the cold light. Fingers flinched and stopped him--Eihva. She stared at him through his arm, beneath the lines of green and black. The knife dangled and hit the floor with a dull clatter, the loudest sound in years.
Her name was curled into his wrist, once mourned and rightful. Even Naele's fingers couldn't press it hard, hide the new black. His breath shook and he closed his eyes again. They were talking still.
He'd drown either way, all surrounded by air and light.