Page 113 of Claimed By the Mothman

Sig gathered what was left of himself, what was slowly becoming the memory of him.

“Because I love her.”

Love is not your function.

“No,” Sig whispered. “But still I love her.”

A sensation of consideration. Sig could feel the creeping nothingness eating away at him. His antennae were no longer there. His wings were half unmade, now even less than a memory.

Then we accept.

The Lustrum enveloped him as the unmaking deepened. Sig became nothing more than faint sensation. He could still feel the bond deep within him. It was dimming too, softening as if tucked beneath thick blankets, waiting for endless slumber.

With all that he had left, Sig let his memories—the ones that spooled through his nonexistent fingers now—drift to Nell. To her laughter, the feel of her mouth, her beautiful mix of softness and sharpness. He heard her whisper,“I love you.”

Yes. If this is the end, it is worth it. She is worth it.

He gathered the memory to him to give him strength, and let go.

The hush that had cradled him moments before suddenly grew tense. A wrongness flooded through the space, and the Lustrum twitched.

The bond keened sharply through what remained of Sig and he convulsed—no, congealed—as the last of him was dragged violently back from abstraction.

Nell. She had entered the Lustrum.

He could feel her, moving through the space, moving throughhim, even through the not-parts that were but whispers in his consciousness. Her fury—rage—love—burned down the bond, solidifying in his chest, drawing him back from the brink and towards her.

Blind and boneless, Sig reached with all his might towards her, towards the only thing left he could feel. She moved with purpose, and with every step she took, he felt his form solidify slightly. With every breath she took, he felt the self of him being woven back together.

She had entered the thing that had once nearly unwritten her, and now she was rejecting it,choosing with each step as she moved towards him.

And the Lustrum was allowing it.

—

The world inside the Lustrum was too dark and too bright all at once. Colors beyond the human spectrum bled around the edges of her vision: reds that ached, silvers that sighed, a black so rich it felt like the night sky itself.

Nell stepped, but did not land. She moved, but didn’t cross space. The Lustrum didn’t feel like a place this time, but instead the inside of something vast and ageless.

It’s not personal, sweetheart.

Edward’s voice echoed in her ear, just as it had before, and was joined by a Greek chorus of memories.

But this time was different. This time, the words didn’t tear through her soul and make her wish to lie down, to let go. Oh, they were trying—they curved in like a hawk’s talons, searching for purchase.

Yet something else stopped them. Something stronger and deeper. Her memories of Sig.

Of his hands, whispering worship on her skin.

His voice, filled with awe as he called herbeloved.

The love she felt with every breath he took, with every glance, with every movement.

The bond crooned within her and Nell’s heart surged.

“I defy you,” she whispered to her memories, to the Lustrum. “I refuse to let my past unmake me, not anymore.”

The air around her lurched and the walls—if they were indeed walls—rose before her, rippling with that same, bloody red of Lustrum. A door rose before her, blocking her passage.