Adaptation
3k, Pyrrha Dve & Camilla Hect & Palamedes Sextus & Nona, adapting in opposite directions
You – I? She? Pyrrha? You’ll stick to you for now – don’t sleep. Part of it is that you don’t, technically, need to. Even with Gideon gone – you make it through that clause in your head without even stumbling – even with Gideon gone, his – your? – body is still healing lyctorally, restoring itself without the aid of sleep. It’s exhausting to maintain, if you leave it too long, which you have, but you won’t die. The other part is that it is impossible to shake the certainty that the moment you cede consciousness, he’ll be back. He’ll be back and you’ll have to share again. You don’t want to confront whether you’re afraid of this or desperately hopeful for it. So you don’t sleep.
Instead, you sit at the little table in the kitchen you share with Camilla and Palamedes and – well, and Nona, one dim light turned on because you can’t afford candles, and stare at your hands. You’re used to the body. It’s been a myriad and, even before that, you were nearly as familiar with this body as you were with your own. It’s not the body that’s strange. It’s the emptiness of it, the space to sit and stare at your own hands without knowing that you’re wasting time and if you don’t hurry up he’ll eventually start to figure out what’s wrong. He’s not stupid. Wasn’t stupid. He was the third saint to serve the King Undying, the Emperor’s fists and gestures or whatever the fuck; for all you knew, maybe he’d known the whole time. Maybe he’d fucked it up on purpose.