Work Text:
Talon finds itself at the woman’s window again. The woman sleeps fitfully, her long blonde hair tossing on her pillow. Something in Talon’s chest is warm, a familiar thing when the woman is in its sight, the opposite of the cold the Masters and the coffin bring.
Talon knows it must go. Talon can hear the Masters calling. Death follows in its wake, and it knows death must never touch the woman in the bed. But death is all that Talon is.
Sometimes Talon has flashes of thoughts that aren’t its own, fleeting glimpses of the woman’s smile, her body radiating joy and hope and love… But Talon knows they mean nothing.
Talon used to speak, croaking out a word it didn’t know the meaning of, the woman’s laugh in its ears. It doesn’t speak anymore. The Masters sewed its lips shut.
But its lips twitch to form the word. Its tongue moves in a pattern that shouldn’t be familiar.
“Stephanie.”