Chapter 23: Lots of Emotions Happen Here, Buckle Your Seatbelts

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Hello, fellow people. I got a few requests to see what Squirm looks like so here he is^^ But Squirm doesn't have the fluffy stuff on his tail, he's got the tail in the top right corner : ) And don't worry, the weekly meme is at the end of the chapter.


Holland

The world was silver. A bright, lively color that made everything quiet. Like he had been dipped in velvet.

And then Holland blinked and it was like rising out of water. Everything slammed into him. The tiny, baren room. The wheezing and choking.

Holland was keenly aware of the goddess behind him as he rushed to Norah in the middle of the room. Blood pooled around her like cheaply spilled wine and splattered across the wood floors with every cough.

"Norah! Norah!" He dropped beside her, hands hovering as they hovered over her, clueless. "Hey, kid, it's me."

She stared at him through vacant, glossy eyes. Shadows and bruises stuck out like sore thumbs against her too-pale skin. She was on her side and Holland rolled her onto her stomach. Blood drooled past her lips and dripped to the floor with every cough and wheeze.

"Get her to heal herself," the goddess demanded, looming like stone beside him.

"She doesn't know how!" Holland tore off Norah's black, soaked sleeves and wrung out the blood. He tore off strips of the fabric and wrapped them around her thighs where the wounds were bone-deep. He checked her back, where the clothes were shredded. The longest injury ran from her shoulder to her hip and was as wide as his wrist.

"We didn't work on that," he added a bit softer. They'd focused on the black tendrils far more than the gold and now he wished it had been the opposite.

Holland bent over, head to the floor. Eye to eye with Norah. He shook her head gently, hoping the movement would drag her gaze up.

It did.

"Use the gold, kid." His heart pounded. "You can do it, heal yourself."

But he knew she couldn't. She'd lost too much blood. He'd be lucky enough if she understood what he was saying.

He straightened and ripped off the legs of her pants, everything below mid-thigh, and tore more strips. He scanned the gushing wounds on her legs-

Her ankles.

Oh, gods... The backs had been sliced. Her achilles cut.

Holland knew exactly who'd done this. Someone who honed their lethal skills on their victims. Who cut the back of his neighbor's achilles and despised Norah so much they'd hunted her down just to cut and slash and hack up her body beyond recognition.

Quinnlyn.

Holland focused that surging, blistering rage into tearing more strips and knotting them, and pressing them onto Norah's wounds.

He wished Riveta were here, but he also didn't. It was safer if she stayed away. He didn't trust what this goddess would do after Norah was fixed up.

"Get her to heal herself," the goddesses voice was harsher. "You are wasting time fixing something that she can mend."

Holland tried his hardest not to scowl at her. "What? How do I do that?"

"You know her best." Was all she said. Like that was some fucking miracle advice.

But Holland thought, flipping through his memories to remember every time he'd seen more gold than black. The ghost she killed. The workout that turned into them wrestling. Family game night.

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