It was dark.

All around him there was darkness.

Darkness and pain, both never-ending.

Warping his soul. Turning him into someone— something else.

He didn't want to change, but that was the only way to survive. Survive. He didn't remember much, but he knew he was good at that— surviving.

It was still dark. There was not a hint of light anywhere in the vast expanse of blackness. He did not think that any could survive such oppressive surroundings. He almost remembered light, though. Almost.

It had been so long since he had felt the warmth of the sun, of any star for that matter. No— not star, lowercase. Star. There, that was better.

He liked the Star. She had cared for him, back when he had been someone who deserved that. Her silvery glow was the only light in this terrible place. She wasn't really there, he knew. But there was a warmth on the left side of his chest where her head used to lay.

He didn't remember much, but he knew her voice— almost. If Stars could speak, that was exactly what she sounded like:

Scintillating. 

Soft. 

Gossamer on air. 

A thousand silvery voices calling out into the night. No, the Night.

Sometimes he liked to think that they were looking for him. But there were no stars here, capitalized or otherwise. He was beyond their help. They were doomed to search for him endlessly as he suffered in this dark, agonizing place.

He hoped that she would never experience this sort of agony. Nothing was allowed to hurt her, not even himself. He had to protect that flicker of light.

The beings here would do anything to snuff it out, to cause him more pain. He would protect her, even if that meant pushing her away. For good this time. She was not powerful enough to defeat creatures made of evil.

(One of the many things he had forgotten was the promise he had made to himself, back when he had been someone: never underestimate her. Especially not her grief.)