The Bane And The Alpha Beast
“You get better at surviving it. And better at letting your body come back down after.”
“How?” The word scraped out.
“You make rituals.” She worked the shampoo through, careful around a tender spot at my crown. “You wash. You feed the fire. You drink something warm. You touch what’s yours—your bed, your blanket, a comb your mother used, a ring, anything that says ‘I am here, I remain.’ And you let someone see you, if they are safe.”
Safe. The word throbbed like a bruise and a balm all at once.