( julian doesn't bother to get up. just stays there on his back in the dirt, his wings crushed uncomfortably underneath him. sprawled out, one hand resting over the place where that spear sat until morga threw it. honestly, he doesn't think he can move. sit up, stand, even crawl, he's just so utterly transfixed. in some ways bad, some ways good. seeing morga, presumably real, even pacing and snarling and infuriated as she is, is so mind-boggling and so relieving, he just... doesn't know what to do but lay there.

it's only when malak lights onto the end of that spear sticking out of the tree with a quiet caw and his feathers ruffled that he does finally move. the way he sits upright is awkward. the way he moves at all is awkward. like he's rusty and badly crafted, made up of spare parts he hasn't figured out how to use all in tandem yet. it's been so damn long, and yet he never took the time to learn this body. i mean, why would he? it hardly matters anymore. )

I was... the same thing. I was protecting you. I was protecting everyone. It was the last thing I could do to be of any use to anybody. As it turns out I... still had more to give. Not now, though. I shouldn't be here, either. If I am, it means no one is safe. This could all be one big trap. You can't even begin to imagine how insidious, how vile—this is bad. This is so bad.