Host; Part I, II, III, & IV

"If in some smothering dream you too could pace
Beside the lake that I have flung her in
And watch the white eyes writhing in her face."

MARTYR

PART I

From even the lightest of creatures can darkness take up residence, and unconsciously, she had turned towards her distant rest quite some time ago. Little by little, it had filtered in, swimming among her veins, gripping, and permeating the tiniest nooks. Just as under a green sea, you have seen her drowning beneath her ardent desire, hidden behind her false smiles. With such a path now taken, you shall all soon see her flounder as she is starved. Started by a single drop, reproduced and fed by even the closest of her companions; beginning now is her utter consumption.

PART II
From behind her eyes do the rivers of black now proceed. Vein-like, they have sewn their grip, weaving among her fur and flesh. The marble appearance of her eyes has begun to degrade, the roots of the veins reaching for her pupils. This darkness has long since laid dormant, and has now arisen to act as the thief. The feverish itching of her face has doubled, and in her attempts to satiate the burning desire for the irritation to stop, she has unconsciously begun to pull out her own fur. In vain, she rakes her face against coarse objects, and hides the damage from prying eyes. The aching pressure in her head that had been her near constant companion these few months has almost appeared to take on a personality all its own, its mocking laughter at her distraught behavior echoing within her mind. The veins have progressed to the corners of her mouth. Around the corners and beneath her skin they vanish, their purpose unclear, but the progressive journey a certainty.

PART III

"Your persistence amuses me, girl."

"Why do you condemn me?"

"This is of your own doing, is it not?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It pained you to see them; everyone, so able to move on. But you, you wallowed. Those feelings of regret, of withheld bitterness, all that was left unsaid; it festered. And I was given substance. I was given life."

"What have you done to me?"

"The sight of them pained you, so isolated from each other, did it not? And the ones that disappeared... you could see that they were no longer there. I simply took that away. That which caused you grief."

My whole life had been based on hard truths, and I had been delicately treading on these soft lies since the disintegration of our group. Who would have known that that would have been my downfall in the end? Since the degradation of my eyesight became fully realized, I have come to know that I have been solely surviving, never truly living. I wander this world, cowardice showing as I trembled in the shadows of those who care for me, and forlorn. My weakness the ungodly ambrosia upon which I have feasted since I first stepped foot in this damned forest. I became a ghost, whether or not I realized it at first. But ever since I had taken upon myself one of Umay's suggestions, and my throat had been scorched, his breath escaped from my lips no more. There was no life, no ardor. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing emerged again from the guttural path of my throat. That was progress, at least. And then Asriel had given me a means of fighting it further; a rune. But the effects seemed to have worn off. But Umay had been right, the magic of the Gods' devout had burned me, scorched me; it had never done that before. So, there was hope.

"What has that wretch done to me?! I.. I can't feel you."
"I..I'm not going to be weak anymore."

PART IV

And from the negativity that had taken form within its host, so to came the consequence of housing it. The Martyr was never meant to feel anything short of bliss in the company of her kin, just as the Gods only intended her purpose to be the physical and emotional martyr of her comrades, to ease their strife in any manner possible, and to say nothing else. That was her lot in life; a body to pay the price of everyone's living.

Paid in full.