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vote or i'm breaking up w u
this is 8.7k words. pls comment
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AUGUST 27th 1996
Nauthiz.
Nauthiz, Naudiz, Noicz, Naud, Naudr, Nied.
It encompasses distress, acceptance of the unchangeable, need. It is harsh, but necessary, teaching lessons through gruesome turmoil. Hopefully, a person should come out on the other end stronger. Need is a powerful thing, after all, and balanced quite precariously. Humans need fire for warmth, safety, and comfort; humans fear the destructive force of its flames.
It is necessity, constraint, and the inevitability of human suffering. It is the loss that comes before emptiness. It is the sheer meaninglessness of existence, the destructive and breaking forces.
At least that's what I learned in Ancient Runes.
Just like the Raido rune on my chest, Naudiz is perhaps as long as the diameter of a Galleon. It's on the back of my right palm. They say it is supposed to look like two sticks crossed, rubbing together to create friction and fire. A line crosses vertically over my right knuckle, and at its center, tilted to create a diagonal intersection is the second line.
I cross my fingers, a common symbol of good luck, and watch blankly as the new rune on my skin twists with it.
It happened that night.
His hand was gripping both of mine tightly, pinning them to the bed, and perhaps serving as the only thing grounding me to reality while he whispered harsh words into my ear and fucked me like he hated me. It happened then, when the walls of my Occlusion came crumbling down for the nth time that one night, when his other hand worked its cruel magic on my body, when the fingers gripping mine brushed against my right hand—the knuckle of my forefinger, to be exact. That's when I felt that short-lived but searing pain that made me scream out in profanity, though quickly drowned out by waves of long-sought pleasure.
And now it sits calmly, almost mockingly, on my skin. It's under a Concealment Charm, of course, as are the other two black stains on my skin. But it doesn't ache, just like the one on my chest. Doesn't throb when prodded at, sting when scratched at. It's just a part of me, I suppose.
My Dark Mark aches.
Writing a letter is truly such a simple thing. It's a dip of the quill in ink and then scratching the tip against parchment, curving and manipulating the ink to form the right letters and words, rolling it up with some twine and tying it to an owl to send to the receiver. Honestly, it's a half mindless act.
