To unravel. The two words sound entirely simple, made up of minimal syllables and few sounds. But the meaning? The definition of the verb would seem simple, too. The fraying of ends, the disintegration of the solid... Unwound, unwind... Synonyms merely made the verb sound easy. Unfortunately, it was entirely all too easy to unravel and fray, to become unbound at the seams. All too easy. It had taken little to no effort for my bindings to loosen, for the proverbial marbles of my mind be lost, for the disarray of my reality... It had taken naught but a small incident to light the fuse that would trigger the cataclysmic events that might disassemble the normative parts of your life and rattle the bars of the cage you existed in. I had unraveled before, my seams sewn together in hasty bursts that left some of the stitches loose or simply unsewn. This same mistake was repeated time and time again until my seams were all but nonexistent with the insides hanging out for all to see.

This moment was absolutely no different from any of those times.

As my insides oozed through fresh metaphorical wounds, my addiction had served me like a faithful housemaid, tending to all of the holes the inner pressure had created. Heroin had tended to my wounds and afflictions ever since the first needle had made a partnership with my skin. She had afforded me the sanity that my reality wouldn't. Heroin carried me when my legs couldn't move. When my brain had no energy to exert the effort to control myself. Heroin carried me.

There are many occasions I could offer to explain that would support that claim. I think it's safe to say that I'd been disabled before at times, seated in the comfortable chair that Heroin offered. Serena's death, the death of my sister... Times of darkness had always been illuminated by the caress of the amber light she gave off in her solicitation of those lost in darkness. I wish I had been able to see through the veil of deceit then, but as it were her solicitations were sung in dulcet tones, tasting sweeter than sugar and lulled us to her with honeyed sweet nothings. When I had no bed to lie on, literally and figuratively, she rested herself on the ground for my comfort. I wouldn't have survived my existence had I been without her helping hands and supportive arms. Although her embrace was far too strong for the likes of me to become independent from her influence, Heroin never spoke a malevolent word to me... Her words were only of endearment and melancholy sympathy. It was only natural for someone who had developed a taste for the drug to fall back into it's clutches at points in time.

This was one of those points, right?

Isolt's kind voice was authoritative in a way I hadn't been witness to, before. It's grip on me was welcome as it allowed my brain to surrender and blankly acknowledge her words and her movements as sovereign. Her gentle force allowed me to relax into the sensations, even though they were stronger than any I'd known before. The sheer amount of chemical in my system had driven my blood to boil, the temperature causing me to be vulnerable to waves of dizziness, accompanied by a strong sense of nausea, that rendered me useless. Welcome was her aid in traversing across the apartment to a thankfully dark room that must have been her health cave! As I merely accepted the way my thoughts had begun to warp, Isolt's words gently penetrated the fortress that heroin had quickly built.

"S-still... Mmhm."

My words were nothing more than verbal acknowledgement of her command. The vampire wanted me to sit still? Good thing the opiate in my veins wanted nothing more than to coax me into a tainted sleep that would almost always conclude in death. For what, exactly, I couldn't have repeated, but I couldn't say I wasn't pleased that I was allowed to shut my eyes and lean back, allowing my body to be rocked by what felt like real waves but I could only describe as the pulsing of my infected veins.

As I felt the cool metal touch my side, I stiffened. How I wanted to lunge at her, to encourage my Shadow to ply the scalpel from her fingers and return the gestures... Instead, I serenely lay beneath the sharp of her knife, offering her access tow hatever it was that she felt needed inspection. There wasn't a vein there that I had used, was there? I preferred fingers, not by my ribs... As the knife began to nudge proud flesh, I winced but not because the pain was strong. I was under the influence of the drug created to ease amputee pain... No, it wasn't pain I felt. It was the unraveling of the parts that heroin was trying to keep together and I choked on whatever air was catching in my lungs as the serum began to work. All of my every demon that Heroin had kept at bay would be visible and on display for Isolt to see. I would have rathered the drug claim me.