Quiet.

So quiet.

Too quiet.

She will come and break the quiet, won't She, little one?

Are you afraid, little one?

Yes... yes, I'm afraid.

No, no I'm not! Go away!

The heavy silence was broken by a feral snarl, the stillness erupted into a flurry of motion, and a hiss and the scent of blood filled up the emptiness.

Then it was quiet again.

The half-breed's room was dark, with hardly enough light to reflect in his dead black eyes, and that bleeding in from the dim hallway outside, under the heavy wood and metal door. It was always dark, unless She was coming. The half-breed liked it dark, and he liked it quiet. It was all he had known for all his life: if it was dark and quiet, She was gone and would not come; if light and noise were echoing in the distance, She would soon descend upon him; if it was too bright for him to see and he heard Her voice, then She was here and he would not be able to escape.

Curled up on his pallet bed, cradling an arm that bled sluggishly and licking claws that dripped more of the same, the half-breed's dead black eyes followed the shadows that perpetually spun around him, clinging to the walls and the ceiling and the floor, leering or growling or purring down at him. He had never seen himself except in the reflections the shadows made for him or reflected in Her eyes, but he knew his own eyes were black. How he knew, he wasn't sure, but the shadows agreed with him.

Beautiful, dead, black eyes.

He closed them, shuddering and dipping his head to lick clean the bloody scratches on his arm. The next time She came to him, She would heal them like She always did; She hated scars, hated how they marred the flesh even though She loved the act and smell of a fresh marring, so She would heal away anything he did to himself or anything She did to him, leaving the flesh smooth and clean and pale again-- he also knew he was white, or maybe a very light pink, for the shadows told him that, too. White occasionally blazing with lines of red and black. For now, alone in the dark, he could keep the stripes to remind the shadows and the voices that he was the one in control, not they.

Are you, now.

Or try to remind them, at least.

We'll see who has control, little one.

Little love.

Little pet.

No... only She can call me that.

He was Her pet, Her cubling, Her plaything. Hers. She told him so, always, every time She came for him. She loved him, hated him, used him, coddled him, hurt him and healed him, so it must have been true.

We can call you anything we like, little pet.

You can't stop us.

We'll call you whatever we want.

Pet.

Child.

Monster.

Slave.

Huddling on the comparative softness of the pallet on the cold, earthen floor, the half-breed snarled wordlessly at the emptiness around him. A swipe with his bloodied claws sent the shadows swirling back, their laughter rustling around him, digging their sharp barbs of mocking into his mind and not letting go.

"Go away," he rasped, his voice low but rough, quiet but harsh, trying to shield his head and face under his arms. "Be quiet, go away."

You don't really mean that.

You'd be all alone without us.

I am all alone....

They were only shadows, only bodiless voices. He was alone.

Oh, no, don't say that, little love.

We're here for you.

We love you.

We'll protect you from Her.

We'll protect you... from Him.

The same old promises, the same momentary sweetness which could sour and sting at any moment, the same shallow affection and torment that they always offered. It was the same, but it was all he had. The half-breed was alone, and he hated to be alone. How could he refuse them? Refuse them and be left in the darkness and silence to gnaw on his own limbs until he went mad.

There, see? You're not alone.

We're with you.

We're always with you.

We love you.

It was growing brighter, and the shadows drew closer around him, as if to stay true to their word and protect him from the abrasive light. Light meant only one thing: She was coming.

Shhh, shhh little love.

We'll protect you.

We promised we would.

Don't tremble, sweetling.

He was trembling. She was his world, but he hated Her, he feared Her, he wished nothing more than to stay safe in the darkness forever and never see Her again. The shadows clung to him with fingers that almost felt real, running their coolness over his arms and face, and he drew their chill into himself. His breath steamed out into the frigid air, and the tension melted away into the silent whispering assurances of the darkness.

I will be you, one shadow hissed greedily. I will be you, and She will love us.

Another sigh, another drawing in, and it was true.

The door opened, framing the figure of a woman, and he smiled.