compulsion
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“Tch…! Let go of me.”
Eiji hums, fingers traveling to the palm of Ankh’s hand. “Maybe I should take your medal, so you’ll finally understand.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Ankh spits, trying to cover for the way his heart stutters in fear. This feels familiar in a way he desperately doesn’t want to think about.
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He knows how this is going to end. He knew before he set out to come here. There’s a phantom pain in the organs lining his waist, right where his driver fits. Like something thorned twisting and curling into him, undergrowth shrouding his thinned bones. He’s felt himself rip and knit back together countless times. It hurts to fight, but he has nothing else without it. This is all he can do.
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Ziin understands her more than anyone else ever could, and he also cannot begin to comprehend her at all.