You're exhausted. Your skin is withering into paper, muscles barely able to muster the strength to lift a hand. Your claws are gone, your teeth dull. You can't spread your wings anymore.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. You've been repeating it to yourself for months. It wasn't supposed to be like this. You got rid of it, why did it come back? It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Your eyes are shut tight, but you still feel it hovering above you. The halo. You know it's been tearing at them, grinding them down. You don't want to look at them again. You can't bear it. You know you've almost lost them.
You've resigned yourself. You know it'll rebuild you once it's done ripping you to pieces. You won't like what it turns you into, but you'll be able to move again. To set about repairing the damage it's done. For now, there's nothing to do but wait in patient agony.
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