spelleton | torture memory because honestly i dont want someone to stumble across this in a comment

[ You can't tell where you are right now; for all you know, you could be in a cell, or in a basement, or in a room where everyone's watching you, or a balcony, or anything, anything, anything anywhere anywhere at all.

Your world is a kaleidoscope of pain, light and darkness rushing through incomprehensibly. Your own breath comes in spurts and gasps. You feel like you're dying, and you wish you would. ]

"Still won't speak? What a waste of time."

"Well, I wouldn't say a waste. There's still some things a warm body can be useful for."

[ You know better than to beg for mercy, even in the shattered mess you've become. So you weep instead, wasting your sparse breath on tears, because there's so little left to you that it doesn't matter, that nothing matters. You want to die. You want to die so badly that it hurts.

Something sharp is set against one side of your face. It stays there for a little while, scratching and scraping maddeningly, and you don't bleed from it, not even when it's rammed in and through because eyes don't have any blood in them

it doesn't change what you see at all and it's scratching and scraping the back of your skull, itching, you can feel it

You want to die so badly. ]

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[The memory stops them dead. Stops their heart dead.

For a moment they are back in that dark room, still bound to a chair. Still listening to others talk over their own screams because there wasn't a need to ask them anything until there was. Escaped one to many times. Pinpoints of pain, the sound of metal being heated, privileges being revoked. No food, no water, no sleep. Blades scraping against the flesh of their wings and eventually bone.

(You want to die so badly.)

Their throat aches and for a moment they are Adriel again.

Nekane doesn't know what to do. These are not their own memories. But these are horrors that they know far too well. It makes them sick.

They don't yet realize it but they've sat down on the floor, a hand digging into the front of their shirt. A loud wheeze escapes them as they try to remember what a kid showed them about breathing. But it's...not working.

I'm not there. they try to tell themself. I'm not fucking there anymore, stop thinking about it. Just breathe. Just shut up!

Their panic climbs regardless of their efforts and if they are no longer alone, it's not something Nekane realizes.]

[ He doesn't expect to turn the corner and find a faculty member having a panic attack on the floor, but having a panic attack they clearly are.

He crouches, careful not to touch them - he doesn't want to make it worse. ]

Nekane. [ His voice is calm. ] Can you hear me?

Don't...[They manage to wheeze out.] Don't touch...

[Don't touch me.

Ekkehardt isn't touching them but that doesn't mean they cannot feel hands on their skin. Old wounds ache as they try to wrestle control back from their own panic. The feeling they needed to have their back against a wall at all times because if they didn't, someone could grab their wings again.

(That family made them. Of course they'd know the best way to hurt Nekane too.)

They jam the heel of their hands against their eyes as hard as they can. A moment of clarity thanks to the pain.]

M-memory.

[A particularly nasty one, it seems.]

[ He winces at that. Well, with all the memories going around, it was inevitable there would be bad ones in the mix.

Maybe even his own.

He keeps his hands within Nekane's sight, to reassure them. ]

I won't touch you.

Do you need anything? Water, or...? [ Maybe just space? Or company? He doesn't know exactly. ]

[They are certainly watching Ekkehardt's hands. If he has seen a rabbit or another small creature trapped in a cage, their eyes carry the same feeling. Waiting for the hunter to make a decision and for the shoe to drop.

Nekane was paranoid by nature. Saying something meant nothing.]

Less...of this shit. People getting their eyes...gouged out. Fuck.

[The detective sounds incredibly bitter, and it has nothing to do with the memory itself. It's never going to leave them now thanks to their own memory.

Really, even without their photographic memory it would never leave.]

[ Well, that's enough to confirm it. ]

Ah. That was mine, then...

...My apologies. It's not exactly something I would have wished on anyone. [ He does genuinely feel bad about it. It's still something that gives him nightmares, and it's been sixteen years. ]

[It is...difficult for them to explain how they feel when they hear that. Nekane knew that torture was not something unique to them - just the reason why.

But they do know they agree with Ekkehardt, even if they have no intention of explaining why. That torture is not something one should wish on another. Not the hell that comes from it.

They raise a hand and presses a finger against the spot where that scrapping, terrible thing began to dig into. Not an inch off. They could mimic what happen in that memory.]

Hell of a thing to experience. But it's not like you had a choice.

[They've been going after memories because they don't want others seeing theirs. What happened was their own fault, really.]

[ The laugh that comes out is soft and bitter. ] Does anyone who gets subjected to that kind of pain truly have a choice? I wouldn't think so.

[ He sort of just sighs. This whole thing has thrown him off-balance.

While he wouldn't say it was an intimate memory, it's certainly a private one. It just raises questions and concerns; things he doesn't really want to answer. ]

I've never met anyone who did, at least. Perhaps it takes all sorts to make a world.

Some people are masochistic fucks who think the fastest way to summon shit is to carve themselves up. But who knows, really?

[They sound more bitter then usual. This - they hate this topic. It's not Ekkehardt's fault that it's come up, though. It's whatever that caused these memories to appear in the first place that's to blame.]

It's just bullshit in the end, no matter why. [They're...not quite talking about the memory they saw.] But I'm not going to play twenty questions with you on this.

[To be honest, Nekane would. He has no physical scars from what they saw, but it could be like them, hiding it away by covering his face up with a glamour and heavy clothing.

But they aren't going to. For as hungry for information Nekane was known to be, it seems this is a subject they don't want to delve into.]

[ He shrugs, expression and tone impassive, with a hint of distance. The memories are vivid, yes, but they've been blunted by time and healing; the scars still exist, still ache, but they're no longer raw wounds like they once were. ]

If it satisfies your curiosity, I'd be happy to answer a few questions. You'll forgive me if I don't go into the details, however.

[ The smile he gives is thin and humourless. ] It's not very palatable, to put it lightly.

No.

[It is not unusual to hear Nekane snap at someone. Not surprising, since they always seem to be in a bad mood.

But. Their job as a detective tends to lead people on this sort of path. Seeing the worst that both humanity and supernatural were capable of. They've been alive for a long time. A nuke was overkill but not surprising. Murder, assault, sacrifice...it has become the normal for them.

Not torture. Never. And it makes them sick that some part of them would take Ekkehardt up on his offer just for the sake of knowing.

Nekane presses their hands against their eyes.]

I'm fine. Not knowing, I mean. I'm fine.

[They're not. They're really not.]

torture memory because honestly i dont want someone to stumble across this in a comment

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