She’s cold on the inside. Bane has been cold on the inside for maybe as long as she can remember. When did it start? Where did it end? She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anymore. She can’t tell you. She can’t explain any of it to you. All Bane knows is that there’s a cold knot that lives in her chest. It doesn’t go away. There when she sleeps. There when she wakes. There when she thinks of it. There when she doesn’t. All of it is cold, dark, and distant.
More and more distant as the days and weeks and months have persisted. Seasons drift by, but she can’t touch them. Can’t reach out, can’t grab them. It doesn’t matter. Nothing fucking matters. All she can think of were the words to her last child. The arrogant girl. The entitled girl. Damn her. Damn them all. Damn them all, never to return. Maybe… maybe she shouldn’t return. Come or go, it doesn’t matter anymore.
Nothing fucking matters, and maybe none of it ever did. There’s a hollow space between her ribs. Cold. Damp. Hollow. A summer rainstorm has left her outsides as wet as her insides, and Bane hasn’t bothered to get out of the rain. Maybe the same affliction that took her father would take her too– good. Good. Fuckers, it could be good. Around her the sky bleeds red, her gaze tracking to it with little interest. Why did she bother staying at all?
Anath x Thane