Ouroboros Spine avaalaruk ⋕

ariadne.
dead.
he had only spoken to her just recently, just barely able to catch up with the fiery girl who had never left his mind since that blustery autumn morning. they had never been close, she and he, but they — hadn't had the chance.
ariadne.
dead.
his friend. a young woman with her whole life ahead of her. a young woman with children.
dead.
when he saw her body, peregrine let out a wordless, otherworldly sound. how could a girl so beautiful in life look so — he was going to vomit, surely, his heart dropping to his stomach and knees buckling, extremities numbed with shock and horror.
his breath seemed to escape him, as did his thoughts.
her children.
her parents.
moonwoman, a mother whose child had been stolen from her not once, but twice —! anger anger anger rage this wasn't fair. why her? why her? why —
reticent as he gathers at the sound of the call, at the announcement of death songs; his eyes sunken, his limbs wobbly. anyone who dared speak to him was quickly sent away with a flash of his teeth.
why ariadne?
peregrine did not sleep or eat that night.