The shadows reach out towards you with familiar hands - a childhood friend's friendship bracelet twinkling in the moonlight, your grandmother's wedding ring, your brother's favourite nail polish. They reach out for you with trembling hands begging you to accept and to move on.
You are little more than a drowned mouse. You are an exhausted, dazed and drenched little thing surrounded by hands that keep flickering between the achingly familiar and jagged talons oozing something metallic and viscous. You are done with it all but too far from home to stop walking.
The memory of the last living person you saw wormed its way back into your mind from somewhere deep inside where you tried to keep all the unpleasant memories. Their name was Io, after the celestial body rather than the Greek myth as they liked to remind you.
You're almost certain you've seen their tattoo drifting among the un/familiar hands just like it does across the sky. Just like they're asking you to follow them onwards to safety. Just like they did when they were alive enough to be a caring human being and not another shadow wearing a skinglove.
The shadows reach out towards you with familiar hands and you are so tired you start to reach back.
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