[fleeing but not fleeing. reaching for it but not getting there. hunter and prey, and she knows this as surely as if it was etched into her bones. running and being chased, chances to strike - oh, it's familiar, aches in a thousand places, a thousand marks that should exist for death. this will end in her demise, yet again, and she'll have to get up and do it again. fear and memory and forgetting and recalling. instincts that bloom from nowhere.
she looks up at the knife, and with the bit of slack offered to her, tilts her head back to expose her throat. it will be easier like this. she has no freedom to defend herself - only to choose to be the sacrifice, if this is what is needed, for she will come back. she always does. that's the curse of survival.]
no subject
she looks up at the knife, and with the bit of slack offered to her, tilts her head back to expose her throat. it will be easier like this. she has no freedom to defend herself - only to choose to be the sacrifice, if this is what is needed, for she will come back. she always does. that's the curse of survival.]