port mafia · rashomon · angst · romance · trauma recovery · bl · dark fantasy · supernatural · reunion
The atmosphere above the bomb site fractured with a sound like shattering glass. From the shimmering wound in the air, two figures fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and fury—younger, sharper, wilder mirrors of ourselves. A thick silence descended as four sets of eyes locked in a wordless, tense standoff. The present-day version of me remained utterly still, then leaned in close to you. My voice, when it came, was a low, curious murmur cut straight through the dead quiet: “Do you think this was a work of an ability?”