Reggie seals the larval me up inside her and then I disintegrate. My gastric juices are turning me into soup. Why was I worried about being eaten alive by the Night Mare when in the end I do it to myself? Suffice it to say that I am liquid. Except for these tiny discs made up of embryonic matter floating on top of the me-soup.
The discs suddenly go into overdrive consuming nutrients from the soup. The tiny discs have divided many times growing and proliferating at breakneck speed. I can feel it happening. It’s not totally uncomfortable. I’m getting used to it. I’m becoming something new. How long it will take and what I will be are unanswered questions.
It’s me making all of this happen. I know that. The me that’s thinking these thoughts. That me has to figure out how to accomplish the rest of this process. I’m not sure what that means but I feel hopeful. I wonder if soup can hope? If so, I hope that this is a safe place for what’s happening to me because soup can’t stand and fight. Soup can’t even run away to fight another day.