The Lark’s Requiem

There was a time, Jaskier thought distantly, when he wouldn’t have minded this at all.A time when he could simply grin and bear it as his own blood trickled down his chin, as his insides tore themselves apart and knitted themselves back together again, as the body that Jaskier had spent decades inhabiting decided it quite fancied a complete overhaul of everything, and made this known by bleeding Jaskier dry, setting his nerves on fire, and altogether destroying the bard little by little and all at once as his anatomy inched its way, excruciatingly, towards its new shape.There was a time when Jaskier would have toughed it out, for the sake of the people who would be there on the other side, waiting for him, as well as himself.That time had passed, however, long ago.