I know you.

How can you retell a tale you only so faintly know the beginning of? 

Under your intense stare, how am I meant to tell you what you become?

I’m from page 500 of your story, while you’re only on page 30. This shouldn’t have happened. We’re not meant to meet here. 

Not like this.

“You do not know me.”

His finger pointed across the table. 

His yellow eyes glowed with rage. 

I do not know you?

Something deep inside my chest shatters so violently I’m afraid the three people in the room can hear it. 

I can hardly breathe. 

You flooded my shattered soul with anesthetic. 

You painted the color back into my eyes.

“Now, now, let’s calm down a bit here.” 

“I have had my fill of your fiction!” 

You turned me into a beast to tear out the heart too broken to beat!

File this under: Rewriting bits of Forgiven Lilies to make Endwalker make sense. Fuck me I love you stinky rat man.