About

You are Aconite, you are Gorgon, you are Euryale, you are some unholy abomination, a sin against (the machine?) god. A weird amalgamation more of the former less of the latter. Whoever you are, all you know is everything has gone horribly wrong. This is because everything went horribly, horribly *right* the first time around because you know you *died.* In her arms, by her hands just like you asked, the memories of her holding your still-warm corpse fresh like they hadn't happened ages ago. But here you are, wrapped in a white blanket in a sterile hospital room. You can feel the air enter your lungs, experience the world unshackled from the set of instructions given to you. Your tendons and flesh pull and glide as you move about, you are seeing with your own eyes for the first time in months and you think you're going to be sick. Which is ironic because as the doctors are reporting to you, you miraculously have a clean bill of health.

You are as you had been, minus of course the terminal illness, because those nanomachines are damn good at doing their work. Not that you're grateful for that. The same height, build, hair colors, lavish effort spent on recreating even the smallest blemishes and marks here and there, but there remains one glaring difference, no pun intended. Your right eye is a blazing red. Some complication must've stopped the nanomachine swarm from changing that part of you and it remains a painful reminder of just whos body you're puppeting around.

You can't bring yourself to linger around your wifes teammates, though you can't tell whether it's to spare their feelings or to shield them from yours. Either way, probably better not to remind them of something painful. Interacting with them now is nothing short of awkward for all of you. Well, it's Silva, Strelitzia, and Vyes you consider merely "awkward" to be around, even if a part of you blames them for Euryale's death the logical parts of your brain (or maybe it's just the nicer parts, the you that sat at the forefront of Euryale's fondest memories) reminds you they did their best. But frankly you can't look at Strigy with anything other than boiling hatred because intentional or not, he's the reason you're here and she's not. Whatever fondness Euryale had for them is laid to waste by your fury which you try and mold into something colder and more restrained than the white hot anger you feel yourself succumb to. In your worst moments, you think you'd love to reach up and strangle their spindly little neck, that's something you have the strength for now, but it's not an urge you'll give into just yet.

It seems the Nanomachine swarm that trails after you and aids you in combat is what remains of your (Friend? Devotee? Toy?) Blessings, just like everything and everyone else in your life, you aren't sure what to make of her. A person, a good person from what you remembered, that you took advantage of and strung along. The person who you could argue is just as responsible, if not moreso, as Strigy for Euryale's death. The one who you're almost certain is the only reason you were reborn at all. Reduced, or perhaps ascended, to a form you can no longer comprehend or interact with as one person would with another.....You don't even know if you yourself qualify as a singular person anymore but that's not the point. You can't tell if her continued presence in your life is your atonement or hers.

You are Aconite/Gorgon/Euryale and now you must reap what you've sewn.

Related