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Icy Eyes and Neon Skies

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The first thing that came was the chill.

An almost wrongness that overtook the whole soul; or what was left of it, anyways. A feeling of primal longing - [for what, though?] - that consumed the mind, the core, all reason and chewed it up and spit it out so fast that only an anxiety-inducing whiplash was left in its place.

It was reminiscent of something he couldn't place but at the same time was all he had ever known, a screeching shock that perhaps, in another universe, would have rearranged him molecule by molecule and-

Gasping, shaking breaths that brought no substance into nonexistent lungs, thick rivulets of tears that stained translucent white cheeks a garish green. The same pale skin cloaked phantom bones, fisting shocks of black hair between lithe fingers as if his only 'lifeline'-

Ironic, wasn't it?

After all, he was dead.


Ice blue eyes, unblinking and hollow, flew open. He made no move to remove the scarred hands that threatened to rip out black locks in angry chunks, rigid and clenched arms staying in their position as if they could tear away the truth of the matter.

The previous shuddering intakes of thick green air abruptly stopped, an instinctual knowledge of its uselessness taking root in his subconsciousness.

Ah. So that's what it was. He was deceased. Dead. But not departed. He no longer breathed a earthy blend of oxygen and nitrogen air, no longer bled a thick, warm red that most likely now stained the tiled floors of the-

The what? What was he thinking about again?

The flash of the connection in his mind dissipated and soon as it had manifested, leaving behind only a chewed up sliver of a previous dream.

The bright blue eyes, not having blinked even once since they were wrenched open, finally took notice of the world around him. Green as far as those eyes could see, an unnatural fluorescence that was only a few levels less vibrant than the fluid that streamed from his tear ducts to his chin. Floating droplets hovered in the air, bobbing around black hair that was both limp and wild at the same time, frazzled and sagging in equal measures as if it couldn't make up its mind on whether or not it was sentient.

The teary gaze turned to what he could see of himself.

His whole form floated in the endless sea of neon, white jumpsuit that continued and continued through a spectral tail that faded into transparency. A splotch of black could be seen on his chest through clouded eyes.

Slowly, ungloved hands unclenched, giving up their death grip and instead coming into eyesight. They were covered from nail to sleeve with lightning scars, reminiscent of curling frost. Elegant yet cutting patterns of pain that stood opaque against the translucent white of his skin. He could see the green of his surroundings darting through his hands and peaking through his clothes as if he were only a thin sheet of ice.

His hands dropped to his sides, and once again the landscape's only shade of blue took its absence as pale eyelids closed, black eyelashes quivering with the weight of his thoughts.

Who was he was the question at the forefront of his mind. He began to search and search through what little he could conjure in his head with the inquiry of "Who am I?"

Scarred white hands once again found themselves tangled in contrastingly black hair as if they could rip apart his skull and dig out the answers to all of his questions. His gaseous white tail wrapped around his form as he curled in on himself, liquid ectoplasm dripping up against gravity as he cried. Short breaths that he knew weren't necessary for his continued survival escaped his lips, a habit from a previous life when breathing had been a necessary thing.

It could have been years, days, even seconds that he stayed like that. It wouldn't have mattered. He had an eternity, after all.

However, eventually it hit him like yet another shock of electricity, as if it hadn't been enough the first time-

The first time?

Again, the thought evaporated, leaving behind only the information that he had now discovered.


He couldn't conjure a last name, but he knew with every fiber of whatever his being was that that was what he was, or what he had been.

The tail uncurled and rough fingers dropped down with minimal amounts of torn-out strands between them.

This time his eyes opened slower, an ethereal sort of thing that came with a calming of his being. He turned, blue locking onto the glaring purple of a levitating door, and with a flow of tears slowing he flew to meet it. Scarred hands twitched, and then reached out. The knob turned effortlessly, swirly patterns of frost taking up residence on the spectral brass.

The door opened to a place he had not seen before during his brief time as a spectral entity. He-Danny-took an inhale, unnecessary but comforting. He floated inside, and closed the door behind him like the chapter of his old life.