"No, you don't." It's instinct again that makes Sophie throw her hand out, the door disappearing behind an impenetrably black shadow. It's as natural as breathing and doesn't make an iota of sense because how can she be both? She changes again, scales unfurling over her body in a way that should look familiar to John. But Sophie is not a mutant, she has simply covered herself in the golden scales of a dragon, impenetrable to heat.
Her back is still to John, but her stance has gone wary again, hunched over her much larger boyfriend. Connor is vulnerable, and Sophie will not let him come to harm. The Red rises in her in a sudden tide. How dare he threaten what's hers? Her vision hazes red as her teeth bare in a silent snarl. She could snap John into pieces, even as his body healed again. She does not love Connor, not now, not seeing the world through this lens of Red, but he is hers and that has nothing to do with love.
Look at you. Pathetic child, the Devil isn't even here and you can't hold onto yourself. How Christine would laugh.
She remembers the future that hasn't yet happened, the heat of the furnace around her, searing her hair away, withering her down to an ashy thing, curled around her brother's fingerbone. Sophie knows what it is to burn. John belongs to Connor, but he has turned against them, hasn't he?
Connor will will never forgive you. He will cast you out, as they have all cast you out, and Christine would dance on the ashes of all you have burnt.
And for all that the world is purposeless, for all that they are walking corpses playing at life, that is still unacceptable.
It has been the space of a breath, and Sophie takes another one as she shoulders the hateful pointlessness of the world once more, and looks at Connor with a pleading expression.
"What do I do?" she murmurs. "What is the right thing to do?"
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Her back is still to John, but her stance has gone wary again, hunched over her much larger boyfriend. Connor is vulnerable, and Sophie will not let him come to harm. The Red rises in her in a sudden tide. How dare he threaten what's hers? Her vision hazes red as her teeth bare in a silent snarl. She could snap John into pieces, even as his body healed again. She does not love Connor, not now, not seeing the world through this lens of Red, but he is hers and that has nothing to do with love.
Look at you. Pathetic child, the Devil isn't even here and you can't hold onto yourself. How Christine would laugh.
She remembers the future that hasn't yet happened, the heat of the furnace around her, searing her hair away, withering her down to an ashy thing, curled around her brother's fingerbone. Sophie knows what it is to burn. John belongs to Connor, but he has turned against them, hasn't he?
Connor will will never forgive you. He will cast you out, as they have all cast you out, and Christine would dance on the ashes of all you have burnt.
And for all that the world is purposeless, for all that they are walking corpses playing at life, that is still unacceptable.
It has been the space of a breath, and Sophie takes another one as she shoulders the hateful pointlessness of the world once more, and looks at Connor with a pleading expression.
"What do I do?" she murmurs. "What is the right thing to do?"