Monkey stared down at her hand, quiet, contemplative, giving it an experimental flick here and there as she tried, desperately to free herself of the image of it tightening around Rebecca’s neck. She had been able to feel it fine, perfectly, she could remember the feeling of the woman’s erratic pulse as her own fingers began to tighten and crush.

Monkey closed her fingers together into a fist, shuddering at the memory, at the way she could still feel Rebecca’s terrified gaze on her, and the feeling of her hand being separated from her body. She gave each finger another test movement, making sure she could still feel every finger. There was no difference between the way it was before and the way it was now… it was perfectly fine.

Except she had watched it, felt it, try and take the life of a friend. Felt it gone, and watched it lie nearly a metre away from her on the floor.

And she heard him taunt her, laugh at her, take her hand back and turn on everyone else. Everyone she had. She remembered the way he took her by the Avatar and gave her the choice, was she going to save herself, or save the one who might one day stop the End? Was she going to let him have the power to kill everyone… or was she going to try and stop him, right then, right there…

God… Gaia… she wished she could take his voice out of her. She wished she could cover her ears and never hear it… but she wasn’t even sure she had heard it with her ears… she wasn’t sure if she could stop hearing him, because then he started talking with her voice… talking with her. She could feel him talking with her voice, her throat vibrating the noise out, hear him laughing with her mouth, grinning with her teeth. Just the same she could feel herself screaming. Screaming, though no one could hear her, screaming for him to stop, to leave, to just die, just die even if he took her with him, even if he sucked her straight down to Malfeas with him, just for the hopes of not watching him burn her friends any longer.

She had felt paralyzed and not, lost and incapable as she felt herself move against her will, watched as her friends tried to kill her to get to him, and heard him laugh as they failed. She felt the power of the sword as he turned it on them, nearly ending their lives at his hands. Watched them crumble and fall, bleeding, or burning as he tapped into a power even she could hardly dream to fully wield…

She wished she could take his voice out of her, because even now she could hear him laughing. Taunting her as used her enlightenment to maim and destroy, she could feel him using her, and she felt the filth of it powerfully. He had used her body, tried to take it as his own and everything she cared about with it. And she could still feel him.

She could still feel him inside of her. Even now, even with him gone from her, she could feel him. Feel him moving her fingers, feel him swinging her arm. Feel him laughing as he covered her in the blood of her loved ones. She could feel his intentions, and the joy he took in her pain. She could feel him, still, as she moved her fingers, like he had moved her fingers.

She wished she could take his voice out of her.

It made her sick to speak, to move, to act… because he had used her. He had used her and now she couldn’t be her again.