( there's a frailty to this moment that felix doesn't like, that cuts too close to something fleshy and throbbing inside him. he swallows another drag, exhales the smoke through his nose after it burns through his lungs and fills him up like how ephemera filled him up in the arena. )

Not really. You're human.

( built-in instinct, driving him to survive. humans have lines. humans want to live. for thousands and thousands and thousands of years, men and women alike have tirelessly sought the cure to mortality because death is a finality that can't be logically understood or grasped. ephemera is crazy, for being here with felix, for coming at him derigged, for not understanding that felix is a fate worse than fucking death. but he's human.

felix swallows around the taste of nicotine and smoke, pushing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. he stares up into the dark. there's no proper sky in the down. everything is so fucking damp here. )

When I was a kid, my mom used to say I was cursed. Satan has your soul, my little rabbit, all fucking dramatic with the Bible verses and holy water. I think I got my flair for drama from her, honestly.

( and his love of liquor. )

She kind of lost her shit after my dad died. Had her moments when she'd sober up, and everything was good, like how it was supposed to be, but. ( he rubs his thumb over his bottom lip again. the curling smoke from his cigarette disperses as he exhales, disappearing into the clammy air. ) Sometimes shit changes us. The war. Losing people we care about. Love. But sometimes we just are the way we are, and there's no changing it. Written into our DNA. Born fucked, stay fucked. It is what it is. I know what I am.

( another drag, another exhale. felix flicks ash onto the concrete. )

I should go.