[Lost] Freaky Friday - Nemoa/Venice
Feb. 9th, 2011 06:33 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
http://users.livejournal.com/_crimsonearth/ posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
writing_shadowsNemoa frowned. She could feel the sunlight on her skin, and it made her feel sick. Unable to open her eyes for a moment, she wondered how on earth she had ended up in a place where morning was allowed to creep in. She shifted a leg and felt a presence beside her. All right, so they had both ended up here. She struggled to remember how, but her mind felt like a fog. And so she rolled over and buried her head half into the pillow and reluctantly, painfully, she opened one eye to see if her darkling lover was awake. She then promptly shut it again as a shot of panic flooded through her gut.
No. No I said I wouldn’t go there again. I’m still asleep, I must be.
She bit her lip, and immediately knew something was wrong.
Where are… my fangs?
It sounded a little silly in her head, but she bit her lip harder and felt nothing but a blunt press upon her skin. She opened her eyes again; both of them this time. Maybe if she crept out of bed very quietly… I mean, he sleeps like a log anyway.
Then a thought dawned upon her.
I haven’t mirrored in my sleep for… for years!
She took a deep breath, as part of the panic slipped away from her. Then she closed her eyes again and concentrated, feeling the glamour stir in her veins. But nothing. Nothing was happening. No tingling across her skin, no gentle sculpting invisible hand across her face, guiding the change.
Oh, God, what’s wrong with me?
She sat up carefully, and looked around. So… this must be his bedroom. The one he shared with Venice. She was sure she’d never been here before. She certainly didn’t remember coming here last night. Her gut ached and her mouth tasted bitter and dry. She felt… hungry, almost, but she hadn’t remembered feeling hungry in years. An appetite was not something she possessed. Her taste-buds were never what they used to be anyway, since the venom. And then another thought hit her. Even under mirror, she could always feel the venom in her chest, lingering, burning, waiting to flood through her veins like wildfire. But there was nothing. No prickling, burning ache beneath her ribcage
Has… have I… bitten him?
She turned to look at the shape sleeping – she hoped – beside her and scrutinised him for signs of breathing.
Please be breathing. Please breathe. Just once.
It seemed like a long wait, but eventually she was convinced.
Shit. What is wrong with me? Shit!
As she slid silently out of the bed, wincing in the bright light, it occurred to her that she felt uncommonly warm.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe that’s why I can’t shift back. Maybe I’ve got a fever or… or… no, I wouldn’t have taken anything.
She went wandering to find the bathroom. The face didn’t feel familiar. Ellen’s was more delicate, her skin was fairer, her cheekbones higher. Natalie’s was darker, softer. This face felt… worn, somehow, skin that felt abused, neglected, over-done somehow.
At the mirror, she reeled.
I’ve never… imprinted Venice’s face…
She looked closer, scrutinising.
In fact… if this is her face… I haven’t learned half the topography of it. I wouldn’t have known how…
Then, anger.
What the fuck did you ask me to do, Rex? What happened to ‘I want you to be *you*?’
She closed her eyes tight, trying to assuage the rising fear inside of her.
Change back.
Change *back*.
She swallowed a sob.
God damnit! Change back! I want my fucking face back!
She lashed out with an open fist and with a loud crack, felt the glass splintering under her knuckles. As she drew her bloodied hand back, the pieces fell away, like a waterfall. The one shard remaining glared back at her as she glared at it.
She heard footfalls, urgent, stumbling, coming her way. She threw herself against the door and locked it tight. Then she slid down to the floor, gazing mournfully at the broken splinters of mirrored glass all over the floor, as her throat closed up tight, and her eyes began to sting.
Please, *please* change back…
No. No I said I wouldn’t go there again. I’m still asleep, I must be.
She bit her lip, and immediately knew something was wrong.
Where are… my fangs?
It sounded a little silly in her head, but she bit her lip harder and felt nothing but a blunt press upon her skin. She opened her eyes again; both of them this time. Maybe if she crept out of bed very quietly… I mean, he sleeps like a log anyway.
Then a thought dawned upon her.
I haven’t mirrored in my sleep for… for years!
She took a deep breath, as part of the panic slipped away from her. Then she closed her eyes again and concentrated, feeling the glamour stir in her veins. But nothing. Nothing was happening. No tingling across her skin, no gentle sculpting invisible hand across her face, guiding the change.
Oh, God, what’s wrong with me?
She sat up carefully, and looked around. So… this must be his bedroom. The one he shared with Venice. She was sure she’d never been here before. She certainly didn’t remember coming here last night. Her gut ached and her mouth tasted bitter and dry. She felt… hungry, almost, but she hadn’t remembered feeling hungry in years. An appetite was not something she possessed. Her taste-buds were never what they used to be anyway, since the venom. And then another thought hit her. Even under mirror, she could always feel the venom in her chest, lingering, burning, waiting to flood through her veins like wildfire. But there was nothing. No prickling, burning ache beneath her ribcage
Has… have I… bitten him?
She turned to look at the shape sleeping – she hoped – beside her and scrutinised him for signs of breathing.
Please be breathing. Please breathe. Just once.
It seemed like a long wait, but eventually she was convinced.
Shit. What is wrong with me? Shit!
As she slid silently out of the bed, wincing in the bright light, it occurred to her that she felt uncommonly warm.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe that’s why I can’t shift back. Maybe I’ve got a fever or… or… no, I wouldn’t have taken anything.
She went wandering to find the bathroom. The face didn’t feel familiar. Ellen’s was more delicate, her skin was fairer, her cheekbones higher. Natalie’s was darker, softer. This face felt… worn, somehow, skin that felt abused, neglected, over-done somehow.
At the mirror, she reeled.
I’ve never… imprinted Venice’s face…
She looked closer, scrutinising.
In fact… if this is her face… I haven’t learned half the topography of it. I wouldn’t have known how…
Then, anger.
What the fuck did you ask me to do, Rex? What happened to ‘I want you to be *you*?’
She closed her eyes tight, trying to assuage the rising fear inside of her.
Change back.
Change *back*.
She swallowed a sob.
God damnit! Change back! I want my fucking face back!
She lashed out with an open fist and with a loud crack, felt the glass splintering under her knuckles. As she drew her bloodied hand back, the pieces fell away, like a waterfall. The one shard remaining glared back at her as she glared at it.
She heard footfalls, urgent, stumbling, coming her way. She threw herself against the door and locked it tight. Then she slid down to the floor, gazing mournfully at the broken splinters of mirrored glass all over the floor, as her throat closed up tight, and her eyes began to sting.
Please, *please* change back…
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Date: 2011-02-09 06:37 pm (UTC)Thank you. This is a really nice piece and much more heartfelt than mine. I fear Venice occasionally slides into 'bloody minded fortitude' under pressure.
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Date: 2011-02-10 08:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-09 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-10 05:15 pm (UTC)