Chapter Text
It kept dreaming of the vivisection, returning to it over and over with an unrelenting obsession. Maziah had used the memory often, both as a threat and as a means to scatter and shatter its psyche. Normally a subject would forget. Normally they could make it forget. Sometimes they could even prevent subjects from forming that memory at all. Xotchtil and Maziah occupied two necessary but opposing functions. Maziah broke things to see what would fall out. Xotchtil stitched things back together so they could be of use.
It was difficult to tell if its graphic recall, or its psionic intangibility, were due to Maziah’s efforts, or if it was an innate quality. It wouldn’t be unheard of for interrogation to drive a creature uselessly mad. At that point they were really only good for food, and even that was a stretch.
This seemed different though. It was still conscious, and its thoughts still related to each other, they were just quick and difficult to grab. You could catch what it was thinking about in the moment but commands slipped right through. That also meant you couldn’t force it to recall anything.
Its dreams jumped between two things; the vivisection, and what they had thought was a loosely connected thought. As time went on, they realized it was more likely a memory. The bright overhead lights of the laboratory would shift into a glaring sun beating down on the cracked earth of a desert. The panic, helplessness, and sawing, tearing pain remained. It would thrash wildly both in the dream and in its bed, and wake up cold from the sweat that had soaked it and everything it touched.
They asked about the desert one day in passing. Even the image flashing through its mind caused a deep surge of panic and it began to pace in that compulsive way it did, counting its steps. Maziah’s notes were no more help. There was no more to the memory than that. Only air, light, desert, pain, and fear.
It didn’t take long to finish Varieties of Northern Dragons. It wasn’t long and there wasn’t much else to do. She flipped back through it a few times. “Blue dragons are infamous for their electrical breath weapon and ability to induce hallucinations.” She’d had enough hallucinations of late.
She could feel an odd pressure in the back of her head at times. It wasn’t unpleasant so much as it was just there. She was fairly certain the tentacled thing was causing it but she didn’t know what it was doing or why. It didn’t feel like when they tried to manipulate her mind.
She’d gotten used to them trying to dig around in her brain. When they were trying to dig in her memory she would do whatever she could to stay focused on what was around her. It could be anything from counting the cracks in the floor to how many times she’d gotten kicked in the head. The trick to not letting them tell you what to do was to do whatever came to mind as soon as it did. Contemplating gave them time to try to react or counter. She’d learned to take every shot she got.
They were busy mixing feed one day when it became frustrated again. They turned their attention to it in time to feel it slam the splinted arm into the ground. This in itself wasn’t unusual but it pulled it back up into the air and did it again, and again.
They were farther away, but their thrall was big and slow. They got there first and had to watch helplessly for a minute while it shuffled its way down the long thin halls.
And of course by the time reinforcement arrived it had stopped. It lay on the floor taking jerking breaths and making short, sharp noises the way that sort of thing did when distressed. The arm still hurt but the pain was actually fading, being replaced by a tingling. They didn’t like that. It should hurt.
They knelt down and tried to get a look at the fingers from outside the cell but couldn’t see them the way it was curled. Looking through it’s own eyes wasn’t any help either, it’s head was tucked and it’s eyes squeezed shut.
I need to look at your hands.
All this managed to elicit was a feeling of obstinance. That was fine, the obstinance was familiar and, in this situation, somewhat comforting.
If you lose that arm, you might lose your magic for good this time. I think you know that.
Lair.
You know I’m not.
LIARLIARLIARLIARLIAR-
This was meaningless; it couldn’t electrocute them anyway. As they stepped into the cell it tried but all it managed was a faint stabbing sensation under the numbness.
They sat down on the floor next to it and pulled the good hand over to where they could compare the two. It tried to hit them with it and missed badly, then put the hand behind it’s back.
You can’t be serious.
It recognized their laughter, and threatened violence.
Well go on then.
It stared hatefully.
In the meantime I can already tell this hand isn’t supposed to look like it does. I’m going to need to rewrap it. Come on.
More obstinance. Again, fine.
Your legs and other arm work wonderfully, which, by the way, you’re welcome for. Put them under you and get up.
It did pull itself to a sitting position, but it was more to posture than an attempt to follow instructions. It didn’t move further. They shook their head and just started unwrapping the splint. The flesh was swollen from the fingertips to a little above the elbow. The pressure had printed the texture of the fabric and board into the skin. The limb prickled as they removed but normal sensation didn’t return immediately.
How was the book?
It shrugged neutrally.
Did you learn anything interesting?
“Dragons seem dangerous.”
They laughed. Correct.
"You said you have a lot of books on them?
…yes. Whoever lived here before me must have had a special interest.
“Who was here before?”
I didn’t know them. I came from somewhere else.
“Where are you from?”
Is that all you learned from the book?
“I guess I don’t have a special interest.”
I’ll pick out something else.
They gently tapped their fingers on the palms of its injured hand. No sensation. That’s not good.
It rolled its eyes.
I’m serious. I’ve seen this before. It swells so bad the tissue dies and I’ll have to remove it before the rot spreads to the rest of you.
A picture passed through its mind. A black spider web over glaring light. They barely felt the surge of panic inside it before it had a hold of one of their tentacles and had sunk its teeth in.
They screamed until they couldn’t anymore.
When they stopped, the world was hazy. One of their short tentacles was on the floor, their face was dripping thick black blood. They grabbed a fistful of their sleeve and held on as tight as possible. It hurt, but they needed to stop the bleeding.
Something smelled sweet and savory, almost like… It’s head was on the floor, motionless. Shit.
They crawled over and inspected its scalp. No blood. No cuts even. Where was it coming from? The ear. There was a trail of clear fluid draining from the ear. They reached out a tentacle to taste it.
Its brain was draining out of its ear.
She dreamt of being on the table again. It cut her open again, but this time one of her arms. The skin jumped open where it cut like an overstuffed toy, the meat spilling out. And it just kept cutting deeper and deeper, and more and more of her flesh spilled out. When it finally stopped it seemed like she was inside-out. Her head was swimming with pain.
Sometimes it said, inside her head I forget how dangerous you are.
It sat down on the next table over and stared at her. One of the tentacles was missing from its face. The stub was wrapped in thin strips of fabric and spotted with something black that was probably blood.
I’m sure you’re very proud of yourself.
Her eyes squeezed back shut against the headache. She was, actually.
It actually laughed at that too.
“Why are you doing this?”
Would you believe boredom?
Yes actually.
Well. Not like that. Don’t misunderstand, it’s interesting.
It pushed itself off the table and tapped its fingers against her palm. She felt the faintest tapping sensation.
Feel that. Because you can. I’m shocked that it worked, but ecstatic that it did. Perhaps not as much as you given it’s your arm and all. There was a long pause. There is a good chance you’ll die anyway.
Die?
The fluid around your brain is leaking out of your ear. Either it heals or…it doesn’t.
She wasn’t quite sure what it wanted her to do with that information.
It shrugged. There’s nothing you can do. It happened when you bit me and made me yell.
Her head was still throbbing.
Yes, that’s what’s causing the headache. Here. Drink some water. It might help. It reached behind itself for a bottle, uncorked it, and tipped some into her mouth. Do you think you can walk?
She thought about telling it no out of spite. In the end though, she wanted to get off that table and out of that room.