The Crow and The Collar

I

TW FOR DESCRIPTIONS OF PSYCHOSIS (as i experience it) (MILD) RAPE DESCRIPTIONS, VICTIM BLAMING AND OTHERS.

He wakes up with bleary eyes. Ash accosts them as he blinks, stinging lightly as he adjusts to the dim light. It isn't the tree he usually slept on- drifting for mere moments at a time, hunger forcing him into consciousness with aches that hit his soul. He manages to sit up, forcibly shortened hair feathers smacking him in the eye as he does. He grinds his teeth as the soot finds a home in gray-green eyes, and he moves his hands to reach, tilting upward as if in supplication, knees firmly against the earth. His hands never reach his face, and he knows why.

The familiar glow of purple electricity binds them, sizzling into his skin like a reminder. It was the only thing familiar, and yet it burned in new ways. He sighs, blinking heavily to get the ash out of his eyes, trying to ingore the occasional shocks that travel up his body, unable to fight down soft chirps and rumbles of pain. Pain is a constant, he's figured out, and it would do no good to dwell on it. Shakily, he moves his wrists out in front of him, looking for any burns. The chains sizzle as he moves, binding to the other affectionately, as if glued. He can vaguely feel a collar start to form around his neck, as if trapped, like a prisoner. He doesn't fight it, not anymore. The chains have evolved, so he will too. It's not a choice, not a grievance. He shakily gets to his feet, and the chains seem to like that. A growing pain emerges in his body as they spread, moving like affectionate snakes to encircle him. He doesn't fight it. There are other things to fight. He tries to take a step, extending wings that were losing feathers for balance. Really, it was his own fault that the feathers were falling out or matted anyway. He never took care of them anymore, and only plucked them out. Feathers served no purpose anyway, not when he had nothing to incubate or protect. He straightens his tattered wings out in a futile attempt to balance himself, taking small steps forward, towards the throne that he had watched trap an eliatrope, one of the council members he was supposed to protect.

He sighs, his feet shuffling upon the ashy floor, kicking up dust that swirls around in a dark mockery of snow. Nora watches him in silence, a religious idol, to a failed god. He hates it. He hates this place, he hates her, he hates everyone, hates himself.

Everything before is a shaded memory, obscured by waters that ripple out, blue jellyfish skirting their path. They are close enough to touch, and his mind supplies him with their name.

Moon jellyfish.

Didn't... didn't he know of something related to the moon? A... a moon shrine? A dofus? He remembers a smile. He sees blue empty eyes.

"Are you real?" He whispers, throat long eroded by constant consumption of wakfu that he kept vomiting up.

"No." She answers. "You're hallucinating again. But I guess that's all you're good for, right?"

The dragon's mind whirls. That sounds... wrong.

"Wh-what?" She smiles at him, sweet as ever.

"Well you can't do anything correctly. You don't even remember me." Her tone is dripping with kindness, so sweet. He feels like a child.

"I-I dont-"

"How long are you going to ignore me? How long are you going to run away. You're like every other crow I've met. You're a coward."

His hand reaches to grasp at his collar, eyes shutting tightly. "Stop it." He manages.

"Why? Come on, big brother, don't go pulling on your leash now. I'm only messing around." He feels hair on his scales. Soft, and curly.

"Don't you miss me?" She asks, looking up at him with those same empty eyes.

"I don't know you." He tries to move. Her head follows his arm.