Illya Kuryakin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fight_them_all) wrote2017-09-22 07:29 pm
fight_them_all) wrote2017-09-22 07:29 pm
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With a watch strung loosely on his wrist
Panic was a living thing.
It clawed through his belly, leaving him to hiccup and curl his fingers tight around the watch he held in his hand. Held against his chest, but so tightly that its edges bit into his small palm and left an impression behind that was sure to last for weeks.
He had found himself standing on a street corner, on the edge of a street, a world he did not recognize. No sign he had seen made sense. The letters were at once angular and too rounded, and the longer he stared at them the less they made sense. Those were letters that belonged to strange letters he had not understood. Belonged to a place that was not his home and did not exist in any lesson he had been taught save that of the amorphous threat that lived outside of his city's borders.
His uniform was sweltering. His coat and hat far too heavy for the temperate weather.
A nine year old Illya Kuryakin.
Lost and alone.
It clawed through his belly, leaving him to hiccup and curl his fingers tight around the watch he held in his hand. Held against his chest, but so tightly that its edges bit into his small palm and left an impression behind that was sure to last for weeks.
He had found himself standing on a street corner, on the edge of a street, a world he did not recognize. No sign he had seen made sense. The letters were at once angular and too rounded, and the longer he stared at them the less they made sense. Those were letters that belonged to strange letters he had not understood. Belonged to a place that was not his home and did not exist in any lesson he had been taught save that of the amorphous threat that lived outside of his city's borders.
His uniform was sweltering. His coat and hat far too heavy for the temperate weather.
A nine year old Illya Kuryakin.
Lost and alone.