The Curse of Living

But the pain— pain was still there.

His throat burned as if the fox's teeth still clamped down on him, as if the flesh had been torn open.

But there was no wound.

No blood.

The fox was still there, feasting, its golden eyes flicking toward him only briefly before returning to its kill.

As if nothing had happened.

As if he had never died at all.

The cub did not understand.

His mind, young and unformed, could not grasp what had just occurred.

He only knew that he had felt pain—horrible pain—and now he was here again, whole, untouched

His stomach twisted with hunger.

So he moved forward once more.

And once more, the fox lunged.

The fangs returned.

The darkness swallowed him again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, the pain remained.

Each time, his body shattered, only for him to return moments later, whole but suffering.

He did not know the word for it yet.