This must be how Bella sees the world. That's a lot of time wasted being jealous, then. She can smell the rot and the sweetness and the warmth of harvest time all floating about her in a toxic miasma, and she hates it. She can hear the echoing of a thousand thousand voices screaming at her as if each one of them was perched on her shoulder, and all she wants to do is curl up on the ground and cover her ears before she bleeds out from the trauma of it all. She can feel the rain and the wind and the heat of her own body meeting the chill of the air, and it makes her limbs feel sluggish and heavy when she needs them to be faster than ever. Her stomach feels like it's full of biting ants and she finds herself an instant away from screaming, an instant away from death, because she [i]pictures[/i] it and in the sudden rush of terror her mouth opens to vomit because it is true, it is, Demeter has planted tiny vermin inside her and they're eating her alive and, and, and!!

She is saved by the flash of silver. By moonlight in a suit. Beljani clasps her fingers over her mouth, and masters herself. Even though she has to bite them hard enough to draw blood to make them do it. Stupid! Now she's leaving a trail. Her heart pounds frantic and possessed, like it's furiously pushing the little dribbles out her faster and faster. Her breathing feels labored and desperate and horrifyingly loud to her own overstimulated ears. The sniveling and sniffling is even worse. This is cruel, she thinks. This is so cruel. Why did it have to be Demeter? How was she supposed to follow the path in front of her when every little part of her body was betraying her? The more it fought to keep her alive, the more it pulled this "weed" back into the goddess' grasp!

Another sliver of moonlight, stitched into a suit. All around her is power: the armor, the spears, the poise, the certainty of battle and even the lustful joy that accompanies its form. Wings beat in patterns that drown out the sound of footsteps and obscure movements, despite the pointlessness of it all in the incredible chaos of this clusterfrig. They are tall. They are proud. They are [i]strong.[/i] They are everything Beljani is not, scrambling in between them while occasionally dipping down almost on all fours and hunching in on herself to disappear as completely as possible. Pathetic. There's much of the mouse in her, scurrying toward a prayed-for safety, and almost nothing of the wolf she took so much pride in till now. 

It hurts. Oh gods, it hurts. Her knees hurt where she bends them. Her back hurts where she bounced off those mushrooms on her way down the pyramid. Her nose hurts from the stench of plant gore stuffed into every breath she takes. Her eyes hurt from the rain and from her tears and from the strain of holding them open all this time. Don't close them! Don't! If she closes them a hand will stitch them shut and she'll never see again! Artemis! Artemis! Please please please, she's begging, don't leave! D-don't...

l e a v e

Her gift is tiny. Dormant. Cold. No pleasure. None. Fear. Run. Fragile. One. Body. Easy. Break. Run. Stop. Die. Stop. Weed. Rot. Compost. Stop. Die. Nourish. Food. Stop. Don't. Follow. Turn. Around. Cease. Still. Be. Useful. Become. Food. You. Are. Prey. Pretend. Be. Predator. Stop. Don't. Lie. Don't. [i]Lie![/i] Moon. Won't. Save. You. Stop. Stop. Plant. Feet. Grow. Roots. You. Are. Many. Are. One. Be. Many. Be. Seeds. Be. Useful. No. Use. Stop. Stop. Die!

Beljani's neck feels heavy. Where the blood drips from her fingers onto the the wet sand, wildflowers blossom instantly. Her throat turns dry and even drinking all of Zeus' rain wouldn't be enough to wet it again. And yet. And yet. Her feet keep moving. Her eyes zip wildly about, looking for the trail. Even when she stumbles, she is precise. Doesn't touch a living thing. Doesn't come close to it. Where she has to, she pushes, and even though she doesn't invite a single Kaeri into herself, their dance suits her. The terror phalanx adjusts its formation flawlessly to accommodate her without giving up her position. 

If... if Demeter wants to harvest her, she thinks, she'll have to hunt. And that's the domain of another goddess altogether. Her pride as an assassin is worth at least that much. Beautiful and Bella are worth that much. She sucks in another terrified breath, and this time the garden smells like cigar smoke. Another flash of silver catches her eyes. This time, she follows the path it implies instead of chasing straight after it. 

She tucks her bloody fingers into her armpit, and the trail of flowers vanishes behind her. She creeps low, sometimes boosting herself forward with her good hand. It's a wolf's posture, she tells herself. Her nose is running and her eyes are bleary-red, but do you see her? Can you smell her, Bella? Your sister is fighting all by herself. 

"I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die," she mutters a magic spell under her breath with every darting step, "I won't, I won't, I won't. Not like this. You can't make me."