act i: the forest  the forest repels those with bad intentions. this of course requires a desire to do harm, but it's a feeling of fear, not rage, that catches in his throat when he turns without thinking. he's nearly forgotten that name, his name, paved over by decades of answering to something else. the flicker of recognition is an unspoken threat expanding with the smile that reveals a row of shark teeth, betraying the pleasantness of every syllable. he steps back, reflexively, countering the steps forwards. the man speaks to him in an old tongue that he doesn't intend to remember, but phrases are found etched into childhood memories, and for every hope of a confused look comes persistence. his inability to disguise his emotions is both blessing and curse – the expressions that endear him endanger in equal measure. "you must have me confused with someone else." he is someone else now, abandoning his old life ritualistically. the parts of him that were burned away to make way for someone new must remain a coward's sacrifice.  act ii: the lake  gray is tall, but he's taller, with only the element of surprise allowing him the upper hand. he holds the man beneath the water, counting the seconds until the body goes limp and he can be free. the forest goes silent as the thrashing stops, and he loosens his grip, slowly (he thinks) pulling his hands from the lake. he backs away onto the shore, shirt and trousers plastered to his body. he scans the tree line for a stone or three, heavy and eager to be placed into a pocket or on top of a back to add weight and help him sink to the bottom. he turns, the water swishing around him with the spin, and realises his mistake too soon. he feels the shift in the air before he can hear it, the shark through the water. together they fall through the surface, his lungs burning as he inhales.  act iii: underwater  they say that you can't remember the pain. they say that there is only the feeling of wetness down your neck and the panic of trying to press it back together. he's never been on the receiving end, only a giver. tonight the taste of blood on his tongue mingles with the water of the lake. he pushes his way back to the surface, legs kicking in desperation.  act iv: lost  he doesn't recognise this face, these hands. he runs to be free, runs in hope that he can escape the inevitable. relief never comes.  act v: the forest  he's a liar when he says that he can't use his abilities, but as he folds himself in half to empty the contents of his stomach behind a tree, he's reminded of why it doesn't happen. his face ripples and distorts with bursts of pain, and the snapping of bone reminds him of broken branches turned into childhood weapons. he falls to his knees, leaves crunching beneath his shins, and balls his fists against the ground. his head snaps to the left, bringing the black mess from his insides back into view, but he will not scream. he imagines that old bitch knows every time it happens, imagines a cackling of laughter every time her poison crawls its way through his body and the change tears into his skin. the mark on his ribcage burns red, a glow that ebbs and fades, then flares before carving its heat up his chest and neck. the veins in his face flicker with the magic light. the first time it happened, he thought he had begun to cry, but he recognises the blood that first trickles then cascades from his eyes as what it is. it begins to pool between his hands, blinding him in a sea of red. he hears the voice behind him, weak but still there, the gurgling of an absent throat held in place. "mar sin leibh an-dràsta, prionnsa."