[ The sound of his voice falls oddly dead in the wet, unspeakable air; but someone hears him. Someone hears everything here.
She still is someone, she lies to itself.
Around one corner or another, a figure looms; human-shaped, more or less, although what was once a pressure suit distorts and bulges strangely. Look more closely, and there is no oxygen tank; the helmet is cabled in, by grey-pink and dripping cords as thick as a man's wrist, to the fetid walls. What obscures the faceplate from within simply doesn't bear thinking about.
It's not a hand that reaches out for him. A shoulder flexes, a cord darts out from the wall -- this one only a delicate finger-width -- and coils almost gently round his ankle. ]
No one's coming for you.
[ The voice alone untouched; a husky, lovely, almost prayerful alto. ]
Deep down underneath you always knew you'd be here alone, didn't you? Under the skin you knew. They all lied to you and left you and set this rot inside you, and leading good people into it wouldn't save you anyway.
all of the above with bonus depersonalization
She still is someone, she lies to itself.
Around one corner or another, a figure looms; human-shaped, more or less, although what was once a pressure suit distorts and bulges strangely. Look more closely, and there is no oxygen tank; the helmet is cabled in, by grey-pink and dripping cords as thick as a man's wrist, to the fetid walls. What obscures the faceplate from within simply doesn't bear thinking about.
It's not a hand that reaches out for him. A shoulder flexes, a cord darts out from the wall -- this one only a delicate finger-width -- and coils almost gently round his ankle. ]
No one's coming for you.
[ The voice alone untouched; a husky, lovely, almost prayerful alto. ]
Deep down underneath you always knew you'd be here alone, didn't you? Under the skin you knew. They all lied to you and left you and set this rot inside you, and leading good people into it wouldn't save you anyway.