FOOTSTEPS: SCINTILLA ANTHOLOGY VERSION (2011)

In which Neva remembers the steps leading up to "Dance No More." Originally posted in the "Tales from the Tempest" collection.

I feel the pain of everything you forgot.

All the ways they gaze at you,

grieving over what you've lost.

I see what you no longer can,

I wish that you weren't blind.

Everything I ever wanted,

you left it all behind.

Tracing Back Along Your Scars

It was with utmost reluctance that I let Mewtwo to rub healing ointment into my back. My muscles coiling with tension at his touch, at the feeling of him tracing the vertebrae of my jutting spine – how much I disliked the sensation can't be quantified. I understood how morbid curiosity was aroused by the sight of bones jutting from emaciated flesh, but that knowledge didn't sooth me. Instead, it furthered my discomfort, and I remembered what I'd experienced beneath the hands of another in the past: anguish, betrayal, humiliation, and even shame. Having never known the pleasant comfort it could provide (hard fingers had always left bruises behind), I hated this moment, especially as I felt him trace along one of the ugly scars which marred my back. As a fingertip ran along the pale crease, I looked back at him, not knowing how else to respond. His expression, I noted, was one of concern and even horror as he asked how I'd received this mark and the others.

I remained silent. Even if I could have spoken with him, I wouldn't have told him of their origins. After all, my past was my own to be concerned with, not his. As I turned around in wordless rejection, he sighed and proceeded to bandage my injuries the rest of the way…and then, startling me, I felt his paws begin to massage the tight muscles of my shoulders and back. My mind short-circuited with bewilderment. What - what did he think he was doing? Unease filled me, making me desire to retch, but I refrained from the motion out of uncertainty. This new experience disturbed me - it blended my confusion and panic with involuntary enjoyment. Yet regardless of the mild bliss, I wanted him to stop. Seeming to sense this, he did so soon enough, and murmured quietly that he wouldn't hurt me, as one might to a stray and skittish animal. Similarly to one, I took little reassurance from his soft tone. I couldn't believe his words were true, for others had said the same before turning around to stab me – sometimes literally. I was still a prisoner, and was merely waiting for him and his companion to follow those examples in treachery.

The Possibility of Hope

Days later the male took me to a place of music, and as the lyrics of the first song flowed through my mind, they seemed to reflect the inner wishes locked deep inside my heart. I was a creature who desired the end of my life…and yet beneath that longing, there rested deeper yearnings. There was a yearning to somehow find a way to heal my soul (my body meant little to me), along with finding somewhere where I could be accepted. Yet appealing as that dream was, I was certain it was impossible. My gruesome form marked me as what I would always be: an outcast, with no place upon Earth, with a destiny of bearing what I hoped to be a mercifully short life. Still, astoundingly, I found myself smiling then, a quirking of the expression that I hadn't felt in months.

I smiled at his offer to take me to a concert like this one again…and beneath my broken faith in trust, I smiled at him as well.

Striking Out

After I'd found my voice, I exchanged philosophical views with my healer. In that peaceful night, I enjoyed our debates and contemplations, and found the depth in my companion's musing to be rather appealing. Yet sometime later, I would fight this same individual with all the force my limbs could muster as he attempted to hold onto me, the feral being he wanted to tame. I fought him fiercely, fought his embrace and fought his offered warmth – for he, with his tranquil life, could never understand what I'd been made live through! How dare he even try to sooth me now? How dare he try to make those atrocities right with comforting words? From a distance, I heard him whispering an apology for yelling at me, for not trying harder to comprehend the magnitude of my pain, for all the torturous memories I could never forget, for the echoes of them stretched along my flesh. But I couldn't bear to listen to him. I focused myself instead on keeping my tears from overflowing from my eyes. I wouldn't allow myself to cry. It was a weakness others would prey on.

Only later did I realize that I'd found some form of ironic comfort from the argument, not because of my disclosure, but for what Mewtwo hadn't done: for when I'd used all my strength to hit him, he hadn't hit me back.

Momentary Peace

As I ate my dinner, I could hear the waves lapping against the seashore, and seagulls calling out into the saliferous breeze. Mewtwo, perched on the branch above my own, looked out across the nearby beaches, his amethyst eyes distant as they peered towards the western horizon. I too could accept this warm calm, and after a choice which led to both a second of intimacy and a minute of embarrassment, we returned to the church that he called home. There, lying out upon the roof with a blanket beneath us, we watched a star fall from the night. He explained the tradition that followed such an event, and with that, we both made our wishes. With a thoughtful look, he murmured that he wanted insight.

While I? I didn't tell him what I yearned to have, but merely murmured it to myself: I wished for companionship. I didn't want to be alone anymore.

Changing Soul

He was there when I thrashed awake from one of the nightmares, which had possessed me like a poltergeist. And without a word to explain his actions, he reached out and grasped my arm, evidently searching for something beneath my fur. He soon discovered the scar that I'd remembered receiving in my dream. For a minute more, I allowed him to continue to explore the limb for the echoes of lacerations, before I saw it register in his mind the extent of the damage done to me. Finding it unbearable at that point, I rose and stood before a full-length mirror.

Peering at the being within its reflected depths, I spoke the self-deprecating words I regarded as truth, for it was what I'd been taught from the beginning of my waking life. The male murmured that no being was worthless, but I chose not to believe him, and in doing so let the self-destructive cycle of my thoughts continue to turn. I clung to the only beliefs I possessed, clung to the lies, until finally the day came when my faith began to change. I allowed the reassuring figure to hold me as I wept, as my heart was in the worst throes of sorrow. He didn't understand the source of my tears, of how I was crying for the child I'd been made to carry and had lost, reminded of that terrible time by the boy we'd taken in for such a short while.

Parenthood, even if unwilling, was something I knew he wouldn't understand. Yet I sought him out for comfort anyhow. Feeling the support and warmth of his arms around me gave me that solace, and my tears – having been held back for far too long – allowed me to grieve over all of the evils that had been forced upon me.

Now Wanted

Initially, Mewtwo's proximity to my person distressed me, as personal space was a thing I coveted. It was a desire derived from the (erroneous) belief that distance equaled safety. Yet the feelings of discomfort faded as his warmth penetrated my fur, and with a sigh, I tentatively curled closer to him, listening to him breathe. The unbroken quiet in the room, the unfettered expression gracing his face, the loose arms about me, each began to pervade me with a sense of security. I felt safe like this. But once the light of dawn grew brighter, I rose from his embrace and thanked him for this small gesture, even knowing he couldn't hear me in his slumber. Then, timidly, I gave him a light, fleeting kiss on the cheek, and darted away with a thudding heart, not allowing myself to think too much about my uncharacteristic act. When he awoke as well without my realizing, having arrived before the wordless song I sang was finished, he said that it - and my healed, uncloaked form - was beautiful. Both declarations made me blush, though why escaped me at the time.

Nevertheless, I was pleased at the thought that maybe there was something about me which others could admire.

Soon after, I discovered just how true that was: I was a wanted thing, and after the maelstrom had dispersed, I found myself in Mewtwo's protective hold. This was becoming rather common as of late, I noticed wryly, though I was thankful for his aid. My defender had saved me where others had discarded me…and as I slipped into unconsciousness, I couldn't help but feel grateful for his decision.

There is (Not) Unrequited Desire

I leaned against him after awaking from the faded storm, finding comfort and security from the act. I could hear his heartbeat in his chest, the sound deep like the pounding of a base drum. Whatever fear I felt regarding him had mostly vanished; where he was concerned, my emotions had taken on a warm and wholesome feel, so unlike their cool division in uncertainty. He'd come to hold me later, and in what seemed on unconscious motion, he stroked me down my spine. The sudden realization that our pelts were bare against one another made me pull away - for although his touch was not invasive, the virtual nakedness between us was disconcerting. Yet there seemed to be magnetism at work, for within minutes, I was accepting his embrace again, and felt his muzzle press to the curve of my neck as he tried to offer mutual comfort. Murmuring to him, I said that we weren't close enough in our relationship for his mouth to be gracing any part of my form. But did I truly believe that…? My dreams seemed to give lie to my words, their erotic nature flushing my body with heat that making me shiver and curse when I awoke.

Perhaps I hadn't been healthy enough for such inclinations before. Yet no matter why this was the first incidence of it, my inexperience gave me no knowledge of what to do with the persistent need. As I glanced at my companion, it struck me that there was some irony in only noting now the handsome features he bore after he'd been my partner in a dream.

Disgust then pooled in the bottom of my stomach. We were friends, albeit of different genders among the same - and probably rare - species. Regardless of the potential between our animal sides, my mind found my cravings inappropriate. But later, in a twist formed by a misunderstanding, such coherent thoughts were altered. As our mouths and bodies began to meet, I whispered that to him, heady with intoxication. At some point he realized the drunken stupor holding me, and pushed me away so the act would be avoided. And once I finally regained my senses, I was glad of his choice, though I'd yearned for something more.

Deepening Bond

After apologies were exchanged, I led Mewtwo to the bed and gestured for him to sit beside me. I showed him the scars on my feet, which had been cut into the soles by broken glass. I told him how worse things could have happened between us, and as I smiled at him, the dreary mood lightened. Soon, with a streak of playfulness I hadn't known he'd possessed, he began to tickle me, his fingertips racing up the arcs of my feet. I laughed, which only spurred him on, until my shortness of breath made me gasp out for him to stop. Looking up, I smiled at him and agreed that the mock attack had been fun…and as he smiled back, the air around us seemed to grow still and laced with something intimate. The space between our faces began to close, and I wondered if our muzzles would meet, and our mouths would press together.

Mewtwo seemed unaware of what was occurring, and in any case, what was forming between us never came into reality. Instead our friend called out upon her arrival, asking us where we were, effectively shattering the mood. I reassured myself that it didn't matter; I felt weak as it was, and growing even more lightheaded likely would have made me faint.

Indeed, dizziness swept through me as we got up, and the rush that made my limbs give out beneath me. Illness followed within the subsequent hours, and when I did find consciousness, I saw fleeting, blurred images of the others tending to me. Mewtwo, my angel, was beside me, watching over me with worried eyes. As sickness faded into fatigue, I awoke to find him lying next to me, an arm around me, before I drifted off once more. When my eyelids opened next, he was still there, and he began to try easing a drink past my lips. And upon discovering that I couldn't chew, he fed me in the crudest manner, his mouth falling over mine. Confusion paralyzed me, with disappointment following soon after. His actions weren't what I'd thought they were at first….

Making Comparisons

I told him my secrets about Aaron, the man who smelled of apples, and with those secrets gave him my full trust. Would he someday break it like all the others? After finding happiness here with him, I prayed not; for if I couldn't have faith in him, then who could I rely on? There was a certain irony, of course, in him giving me chocolate truffles later – not simply because others felines could die from eating the cocoa-based treat, but due to my past experiences with it. Would history repeat itself as I feared?

Ultimately, I chose to turn the gift down, though afterwards regretted that choice - for I remembered, suddenly, what gifts of candy were supposed to mean between two adults. I sadly wondered to myself if I could ever gain a mate of my own; someone who I could give sweets to, and perhaps, by extension, come to have children with. Yet who'd accept me as more than a mere friend? Glancing at my angel, a sudden surge of envy flashed through me. For whether it would be in the distant future or not, he would surely have a partner, wouldn't he? Whereas I… I would likely be alone. Oh, I might have friends, but someone more than that? It was unlikely, and that truth chilled me, as did the idea of him departing from my life with someone he preferred – likely, if their interactions were any indication, with a certain blond human. I smiled wryly to myself at that, though. Did I truly want him to be lonely too? How very selfish of me.

Waking Nightmare

Immersed in a dark sea of memories, I cried out for my friends to save me from drowning. Would my companions find a way to rescue me once more, being the angels that would salvage me from the echoes of an accursed past? As much as I cried and lashed out, no one came, and my surroundings didn't change no matter how far I ran. I was alone in a waking nightmare; I could feel the planks of wood beneath my feet and smell the dust of the attic, but only saw fragments of what had been. Eventually, as I succumbed to grief, the male came to break us free of the illusions. The ghost harbinger was banished from our home, and we were freed from his power.

We nuzzled one another, finding reassurance in the act, and later, after I'd come to him with the request, I crawled into his nest with him, like a child searching for the comfort of a guardian. With him holding me, I slept surprisingly well that night…but in the morning, things changed. Somehow, reality was worse than the nightmares: I watched my companions exchange fond words and laughter, and felt an ache fill my chest that made it hard to breathe. As Kirya saw me watching them, I turned away, not wanting her to see my face, surely contorted from some sour emotion. I remembered then that I'd seen them curled together on the couch while I'd been ill, and at the memory, pain flashed through me once again. But I wouldn't interfere with them. That was neither my place nor my right.

Can We Be Friends?

We sparred in the orange glow of sunset, and as I managed to pin my partner down, he smirked up at me. He murmured that he'd be envious of whomever I chose for a mate – for I seemed rather feisty in that moment – and his words made me blush and my stomach twist with pleasure. Yet I refused to think too deeply into what he'd said, having made that mistake before, and instead sprang off him so we could begin our dance again. Then his visitors arrived, taking up the topic once more and spouting suggestive ideas like water from a fountain. My face reddened again, and I took some gratification from the fact that Mewtwo was flushing as well.

Yet then the playful environment turned ugly; it always seemed too, which more than once had left me weary with exasperation. But when they revealed his lies, fury and horror had assaulted me - for who was Mewtwo really? As the truths he'd hidden from me were revealed, the mixture of emotions became ever more suffocating. We'd shouted and argued, and then, in rebound, shared a moment of endearment with small touches exchanged. My paws were held in his, sealing my arms in a loop around his body…and I was not displeased. Softly I told him of my own past horrors, and when he turned about and drew me into an embrace, I noticed faintly that the cold that had always lingered within me had faded some.

A Knife in the Heart

After he'd recounted his memories of Amber, I ached to comfort him. In some strange reversal, he was suffering instead of me, and I was faced with the very rejection I'd upheld for so many months in the past. He denied my attempts to provide him with consolation, warmth, a shoulder to lean on, or an embrace. He turned away, choosing to suffer alone rather than let me to help him through his pain. I wept, wanting to heal his pain as he had mine, to make his hours ones of contentment. But it seemed I wasn't the one who could sooth his hurt; no, that was someone else's job. This was revealed soon enough, when the inconsolable one and his friend cradled each other's mouths in a deep, affectionate kiss, scarcely parting for breath.

As I'd suspected, despite the differences in their shapes, they were meant to be together, meant to be as they were now and would always be. Nothing I could do would ever change that fact, even if I was willing to fight. But even as I cried, wishing it could be different, even as I wished that perhaps it could have been me being held and holding him back…it changed nothing. The new, bitter pain that arose was an ultimatum, one which tore my heart and soul into fragments, forcing me to depart or break down completely. Yet the blade in my heart would be twisted one last time: for he gave me a rose, hoping I would soon return.

Reality

Footsteps fell slow and soft on the path behind me, like the light beating of a mallet on a leather-hide drum. I shut my eyes, my pace pausing on the cool sidewalk of the park, hearing tennis shoes scuff against the concrete and a cloak rippling as they halted and backtracked their steps. Surely they knew by now that I'd realized I was being shadowed, and that their stalking irritated me? All they were doing was making me fill the emptiness within my core with silent fury. Not that my companions were the sole cause of this anger; no, it was stemmed from the roots of my being, grown from all that had been revealed about my origins and the purposes that had been desired for me. My bitter thoughts formed anew, writhing in my mind like agitated cobras: Now you comprehend the truth of your existence, of your conception through blood…and they too, know these secrets. So speak. What is the sum of the sin that is your birth?

My paws clenched into fists, my fingers strangling the previously inexplicable, invisible viper of guilt that had lain dormant in me since the day of my awakening. Glaring at the sky, I wondered what the use moving forward was when one's life was synonymous with suffering. No answer presented itself to me, and cursing my constant battles with the past, I filled my lungs with the frigid air about me and held it in. It felt as if cold fangs were piercing into my lungs...but the feeling of a stone lodged within my stomach eased. Releasing my breath in a rush, I watched the mist dissolving upwards, and reprimanded myself gently. I couldn't afford to feel sorry for myself now. I'd done just that for most of my life, and it had gotten me nowhere.

Thinking more on the matter, I sat down on one of the unoccupied benches, ignoring the persons hiding beyond my peripheral vision. A black bird, a scavenger murkrow, fluttered down to my feet as I tossed the wild berries I'd picked on the way here. It was late spring, so the tiny edibles were now clustering on the bushes - though admittedly, the berries weren't ripe, and thus were bitter and sour to the taste. Yet the dark pokémon seemed to enjoy them as he gobbled them down, and tilting his head at me afterwards, asked in a silent inquiry for more. I shrugged a negative, and watched him take wing to join his murder in the nearby oak tree, his beak yet dribbling blue juices.

I thought about my own flock of misfits then. I'd hardly spoken with Mewtwo and Kirya after the night my secrets had been exposed, illuminated like a festering wound to the sunlight. Even now, I shuddered upon remembering the terrible things we'd discovered. Silence had since then been my reaction of choice, along with avoiding my companions and my grief. Perhaps that was the best way to move forward, to just let it go. After all, I could vividly recall the expression on Kirya's face when she'd been told the truth: her wide, amber eyes, swimming with tears; her mouth slightly hanging open as she failed to find the right words to say; her misery and uncertainty as she found no correct way of offering her condolences.

In the end, she wouldn't approach me, not to give me an embrace or even lay a hand on my shoulder. The child couldn't grasp the extent of my shame, of my stillborn final musing made my pupils dilate into pinpricks from the sudden ache of sorrow in my chest, and my paws clenched the fabric pooled in my lap. My baby had been a male, a little b oy…I could use that term for him, couldn't I? After all, he'd been half-human. I didn't cry however. I couldn't - those salty reservoirs, even if they ran dry, would not ease my hurt.

It's been said that the rage, grief, and pain following traumatic events in one's life could contribute to survivor's guilt. It whispered that I'd lived while my loved one had perished; that I hadn't done everything I could to stop the atrocity from occurring; that I'd been too weak, cowardly, or flawed to change the unthinkable. Supposedly if I wanted to move on after some horrible event, I'd have to first learn to forgive myself. Yes, I'd healed since my departure from MSIRE, but there were obviously still open lacerations across my heart, with my dead child being one of those still bleeding wounds. Was it possible, I wondered, for me to forgive myself and walk forward? And if I did, what was it I was supposed to walk forward to? To death?

You might not die, a voice within myself whispered, nothing is certain. Yet dare I try to delude myself and bear that hope within my breast? How could I have hope when Mewtwo and Kirya regarded me with reproach and discomfort? They knew nothing of what I would do now, nor understood how to dissuade me for choosing a rash course to walk down. That uncertainly hurt, as did the fact that the only way they knew to show their support was from afar. Even if they might desire to stray closer, their fear of my reaction seemed to keep them at bay. I supposed I couldn't blame them; they probably thought I was still as fragile as glass, and that one simple slip would shatter my newfound stability.

So all they could do was trail behind me, keeping tabs on my movements until my mind was sounder. Yet couldn't they see the truth? I was never going to rebound from this listless state. Oh, I could overcome my loss, but its memory would always cause me pain…especially when I remembered what had filled my Mewtwo's eyes as he'd learned of it: grief, revulsion, and a wistful desire to see me smile again, even knowing the last notion might be futile.

Finally, I stood and gazed down the gritty pavement. "Mewtwo, Kirya," I called, "I know you're there, so please listen: if you truly wish for me to feel better, go home. I don't need you following me like parents after a distraught child. It's not like I'm planning to step out in front of a car."

The irony of that last statement wouldn't hit them for awhile. Yet inside, a bitter laugh emerged, chuckling cruelly over what I'd said. That laughter understood that I no longer contemplated suicide, but knew, just as I did, in what form my (perhaps inevitable) end would be. As I listened to their retreating footsteps, I thought wryly that they'd return soon enough. After all, they were heroic friends to me, always trying to protect me, even from my own self.

A fleeting smile curled across my face at that. Yes, even if my life had once been I ruin, and even if it might fall again in the near future, I counted myself blessed to have such people as my friends. For however long our remaining time together lasted, I could consider the bonds we shared miraculous.