Teeth and teeth and teeth; that's all Crona can remember from the fragmented dream. Medusa woke Crona up, that's what she says, woke Crona up from a long dark sleep full of strange imaginings. Crona remembers nothing but the teeth. Is that true? Teeth like Ragnarok's, hungry and devouring. Teeth gaping wide in a moth that's not familiar.
Teeth is Ragnarok eating a soul. Teeth is aggression, insanity, cackling and gnawing and scraping at the heart and mind and soul.
But.
But…
There are other memories. The dream. In the dream. Medusa doesn't encourage Crona to think of them. Medusa hits Crona, but Crona is used to that. Like the closet, it is punishment, deserved, for things done wrong. Like thinking of the dream.
Sometimes it's hard, though. Teeth remind Crona of the dream, which is strangely attractive and comes back at every opportunity. Slowly. Guiltily. Tip-toeing through the thorn-filled snarl that Crona's mind has always been. Always? Was there a time when things made sense? Friendly hands to soothe? No, that was the dream. In the dream there were nice teeth. Smiling teeth. Grin, not a grin where you can't control your face and it slips away and your eyes fix open and your mouth can't help but follow; no. Happy grin. To show people you like them. Friends.
The word tastes unfamiliar on the lips when whispered. Medusa hears and strikes swiftly. Crona goes to the closet for punishment.
Ragnarok is there in the darkness. The dream isn't.
Teeth.
A friend gave me the prompt teeth for Crona and I wrote this. It's very late at night. I'm sorry. I managed to avoid pronouns for Crona, though.