I think it's strange that I still call you
When I've got nothing to say
The truth is that I still adore you
And nothing really matters anyway
- Playing On My Mind, The 1975
Prologue: Fire
Fear was an emotion I was intimately familiar with. The skin crawling, nerve prickling dread that turned the sun to shadow; I knew it well.
This wasn't fear.
This was terror, revulsion, horror – blood turning to ice, mouth drying, body trembling sort of anxiety that destroyed rationality. And the worst part was, I wasn't even afraid for myself. I couldn't even control it. Because I wasn't the one staring death in the face. I wasn't the one fighting for my life.
All I could do was watch.
The howls could be heard from miles away; mourning and rage mingling in a deafening chorus. The flame inside me was growing dimmer.
All I could do was watch…