Himiko. I see your eyes in Sam's.

I know you're hiding in there, even as she sleeps, even as the weight of her own gaze levels with mine, I can see you. You, hiding in the shadows of her dark irises, in the pores of her skin, under it, in her veins. Even as my Sam laughs and clutches my waist I can smell your rot inside of her.

You're there. I know. I hold that poor girl closely always, I never let her out of my sight now, and she giggles at my newfound possessiveness and doesn't realize that she's poisoned with your soul, your energy. She thrashes in the night and questions her bruises in the morning, remarking that she seems to blacken easily ever since Yamatai. Shrugs it off, takes a shower.

Pass the soap, Miss Stormguard. Her lips are redder than they used to be.

I watch her move, I memorize her small gestures and her unconscious motions, the way she sits with her hands tucked under her thighs, the way she walks as if balancing on a thin line. How her eyelashes bat a few times when she's confused, figuring it out. How her right lip curls up when she's pleased with herself, the clicking of her fingernails when she's anxious, back and forth. How she always touches the wall closest to her, brushing the paint with her fingertips. Her hip pushed out to the side; she chews on her cheek when she's angry, on her lip with she's focused. On her tongue when she lies.

She always gets angry before she cries. Never quiet. She doesn't keep her sorrow to herself. If she's touched at the base of her neck she shivers hard; only I can touch her neck, she says. I could slice her there and she would bleed out painlessly.

I watch her sleep in the nights that she doesn't twist and turn and I hold the trigger of my handgun between breaths. Himiko. I know you're there. I see you. She coughs as you writhe about in her throat.

I think I wanna grow my hair out. It feels like it would be more…natural. Poor girl. Dying girl. I offer a free haircut. Okay…last time, though.

Last time. I nod and smile and bite down so hard on my tongue I bleed. The sides of the gash feel like bubblegum under my tongue. Last time.

I sleep with a weapon just in case and hope that I'll see it right before she succumbs to you, Himiko, I'll see you finally swallow the last of her and I can force a bullet through her temporal lobe and quiet you instantly. From the back, please. Please god, I don't want to see her face.

I'll end it when she's asleep, I promise. I won't hurt her. I'd never hurt her.

You'd never hurt me, right? I mean, on purpose?

Never. Never, my Sam.

She strokes my scars at night and counts them. I think maybe she can feel you inside of her and she's memorizing me for the day she no longer recognizes my face. She says she's cold, her fingers are icy most of the time now.

She holds me closely in a way she never did before Yamatai. She steps into me and kisses the lines around my throat where she'd nearly lost me. She forces her contours flush to mine and gasps, whimpers, moves as if she's trying to force our molecules together. Mingling elements. Sinks into me, a transfer of power, flesh. I don't know what she's looking for, but she's searching for it in me. I let her. She deserves it. I did this to her. Poor, sweet Sam. She doesn't even realize she's only occupying half of herself.

And I growl and grasp at her and tell her all of the things she wants to hear. Maybe I can force your ghost out. She climaxes loud and I hear your scream from the island.

Another night and my Sam is quiet, and still. Too still. I watch her lips and her eyes. Tighten my grip. The safety cocks. How much longer now? She wakes and shudders, commenting on the post-sleep numbness in her legs. She doesn't notice the blue craters on her shoulders, and goes back sleep moments later; I wonder if she'd feel the barrel at her temple in her dreams.

I kiss her nose and weep silently as she burrows for comfort into my clavicle. Not long now. Not long.

My Sam.

I won't let you take her again.