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[Bluebird]

Drip

Drip

Drip

The sound of liquid in the IV bag as he hooks me up once more for surgery.
"This is the one," he speaks gleefully. I'm at my wits' end. How many years have I been in this wretched place?
How many more times must I endure the scalpel digging into my flesh, cutting me up, sewing me back together again?

I wish he'd drop dead.

Drip

Drip

Drip

The sound of his blood as the wraith he bound into my body tears into him, mingled within the crackling of the fires as I set ablaze the last portion of that facility.
But the whispers won't stop. Why? Why won't they stop?
They want more. Flesh, blood, a connection to the physical. I want them to shut up.

But there's a voice I hear that's pleasant to listen to. The closer I get to the tower, the louder it is, the clearer it is.
... It's nice.

Drip

Drip

Drip

The sound of my own blood as it touches upon parchment.
It mingles with the sound of the voices of those sisters, and of the Lady.
I find myself feeling odd. Is this what finding the place you belong feels like?

FEED

FEED

FEED

The sound of that new Wraith, echoing loud and clearly, as the shadows drip from my eyelids.
I see them so much clearer than before. I hear them as loud as ever, and it is a symphony upon my ears.
She sees my potential. She sees what I can do, as I feed and empower the one that has been with me since the ritual.

I see what I must be, what I must do, clearer than ever.
Their conduit. Their binder. Their summoner.
I will break through the thin lines of the Spiritual and the Physical, and allow them to feast, to dance, to enjoy life.
To show their purity; those spirits, wraiths and neutral alike.

If I have to kill for it? Hah.
So be it.

---

I see you.