4/23/2025, 11:24 AM
adonis wakes with blood on his tongue and frost stiff in his fur. he lies twisted on a slab of stone—jagged, slick, and wrong beneath his ribs. air thins in his chest as he lifts his head, the world tilting, spinning, roaring with white.
above him, the sky is ash-colored and vast. below, cliffs vanish into mist and death.
his legs shake beneath him as he rises. one step—raw pain lashes through his spine. his body’s intact, but bruised, battered. like he fell from the heavens and was not welcomed by them. he can do nothing but growl beneath his breath, and stagger onwards.