Reality Bites - Part 2

Drenched, from head to ribbon’s end, Ryder jolted awake—another night stolen by the same nightmare.

His shirt clung to his skin, heavy with sweat. He pulled it off and dragged the fabric across his forehead before tossing it into a laundry basket already overflowing with damp shirts and towels. The weight in his arms made every flap of his wings sluggish as he drifted toward the bathroom, desperate to wash away the lingering sweat on his skin.

Cool water splashed against his face. He pressed a towel to his cheeks, then braved a glance at the mirror. The reflection staring back at him made his chest seize. His eyes widened.

The puffy, shadowed bags beneath them gave him the look of someone who hadn’t rested in weeks. His whole body appeared worn down, fraying at the edges. But worse—so much worse—was the sight where his ribbon began, just below his chest. The skin there had turned pitch black, spreading outward in blotches of deep brown and sickly purple, as though some unseen hand had bruised him from the inside out. Even his freckles, usually bright pinpricks of color, had dulled to dark stains. His rune no longer glowed with the lively red he had always known; instead, it pulsed faintly, dim and bloodlike, as if struggling to hold onto its light.

A shiver coursed through him. These symptoms were far from normal, yet he had no answer. He knew he should speak to Reuben—or anyone—but the thought of burdening them with something so strange, so… personal, made him hesitate. Perhaps if he ignored it, it would fade. Perhaps time would right whatever had gone wrong.

His fingers brushed the ribbon, stretching it gently, searching for clues. Had he snagged it somewhere? Pulled too hard without realizing? No accident, no mishap came to mind. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

Puzzled, Ryder slowly floated back to his bed and sank onto the sheets, which were still damp with cold sweat. He lay staring up at the ceiling, one hand pressed lightly to his chest, tracing the ribbon’s edge as if that touch might bring understanding. The darkness within him pulsed back in silence.

“What’s happening to me?” he whispered, though no one was there to answer.

And so he waited, alone in the quiet, hoping that time itself would tell.