Post by ronan zhang on Mar 23, 2021 23:39:44 GMT -5
Screams pierced through the darkness during the night, the battle cry of a wounded animal. He remembered hearing them, he always did, though after all the years, Ronan had never been sure which of them made the sound: him, or the wolf. There was not a fibre of his being that did not burn white hot, bones cracking in sickly fashion as his flesh tore itself apart and melted around them.The thick silver chain secured behind him clanked with each movement, each pained sob, each agonized writhe, pressing tighter and tighter around his throat and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathecouldn’tbreathecouldn’t– The first thing he felt again was the sunlight on his skin. The light heat warming him to the depths of his aching muscles, limbs twisted into unnatural shapes over the unforgiving wood floor. Shame was no stranger to Ronan. Not after month upon month, year upon year of waking up in pain, vulnerable and alone, chained up like a wild animal. He tried to tell himself it was worth it. Depriving himself of the drug that could save him the humiliation, swapping it out for phony cures and potions that he swore to himself that it would work, by the grace of the gods it had to work and end the nightmare that was this existence. And month after month, he awoke with the bitter taste of shame and defeat on his tongue. The pinprick mark on his arm throbbed. Vaguely, he could recall inserting a needle into the vein. After all, a more direct method of delivery would surely help, would it not? Cut off the lycanthropy at its source, prevent the turn from taking hold. It had seemed so logical at the time. Yet still all he had to show for the effort was blood caked around his fingernails from clawing at the floor, the wall, his own skin in search of relief from the burning in his veins, and a deep purple bruise in the crook of his inner arm. It was a wonder that none of his experiments had killed him yet. Perhaps it would have been better if they had. The room swam before his eyes as he willed his body to move, black spots clouding his vision no matter how hard he blinked and willed them away. The thump of his heart beating in his chest quickened, fear gripping his chest as his eyes wouldn’t clear, and he sat bolt upright in panic. It was a mistake. The sudden movement dragged his attention from his spotty vision to a churning sensation in his gut. Tears pricked his eyes as the seizing in his stomach worsened, causing him to double over with a pained whimper. Ragged fingernails clawed at the chain around his neck as the nausea rose, desperate to get it off because he could not do this, not here, not now nogodpleaseno… It was all he could do to clamp a hand over his mouth as his body heaved, bare shoulders convulsing with the force of his stomach forcing itself to expel whatever he’d poured into it. Hot, black blood oozed through the fingers pressed to his lips, dripping into a puddle on the floor. Again and again his stomach clenched, more of the spewing across the floor until he was dry heaving and gagging, with nothing else left in him to come up. There was a ringing noise in his ears as he finally lifted the chain from his neck, the links jangling together as his hands trembled uncontrollably. He was barely aware as his feet carried him to the bathroom. Each step, each movement was agony, limbs burning and protesting. He barely made it in time for him to bend over the sink, white knuckled grip on the counter before heaving again, though once more nothing came up. It was only then that he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Wild hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his whole body trembling like a leaf. Black blood was smeared down his chin, staining the sharp predatory canines poking out from his lips. There were marks all over him, he could see where he had tried to rip his skin open, trying to allow the monster inside to be set free, and a dappled ring of bruises round his neck reminded him of how he kept it contained. And then there were his eyes. Though his vision was still blurred, sliding in and out of touch with reality, they could still make out that the gaze staring back at him was not his own. Soft, brown eyes had been replaced with sharp amber. They were not his eyes. Not that of Ronan Zhang, not that of a person. They were the eyes of an animal. The gaze of a predator stared back at him, wild and dangerous with pain and fear. It was not human. He was not human. Not anymore. Now, here is a riddle To guess if you can. What makes a monster, And what makes a man? | Tell me once again I could have been anyone, anyone else  842 |