where do demons go when they retire, he wonders, at the end of the universe, when flesh no longer exists to contain them and there are no longer memories in which to be lost. when he sleeps, if it can be called sleep, the glimpses of the past flash in rapid succession, clicking faster and faster, like an old zoopraxiscope as the images speed up into one fluid motion.

"they are gods, too."

she has nearly perfected her false confidence, but her voice waivers, going higher and then back down as she says the word gods. he can hear equal parts fear and envy in her tone. there will only ever be one of them elevated. "it's an honour."

her fingers brush against his forehead, each leaving a short trail of red behind in their wake, then curve to tuck his hair behind an ear. from the table beside him, she picks a cup, small and wooden, placing it against his lips. "sleep and be reborn."

he recognises these memories as not his own, but what constitutes a possession, real or intangible still perplexes. he absorbs the pasts of others when he enters, each thought they once had passing through his consciousness, and recalls them as though he experienced them firsthand. those that linger bleed into the newer bodies, displacing the realities of the current life. the things that happened pile onto each other one after another, until --

when he awakes, his palms are alight. he feels no pain himself, he feels nothing outside of a physical form, but human bodies do, at least at first, and the word that comes to this one's mind is lava. this must be what it feels like to die in flame: more powerful. alive, though the former parts of you have been decimated.