Illusion of Invulnerability

Hot iron flooding between my teeth like squishy strings, its thickness coating the underside of my tongue, the taste piercing into my brain, clenching my eyes tightly against the sensations, almost fainting from the sheer, disgusting, overstimulation in my stomach, head, brain, nervous system - if I began along those kinds of lines, well, there wouldn't be much concrete timestamping going on. What I mean is, those kinds of memories, seeped into my skin and bones and probably never leaving me, like the faint warmth on your skin that reminds you of summer break in high-school or something equally nostalgic, aren't exactly unique. Don't misunderstand, this isn't hinting at any wider blood-consuming population or anything, I'm not trying to wedge in some unneeded kind of expansiveness to this story, but more that, there's more than one point in my life that I've been overwhelmed with these feelings, that sickly satisfaction in my gut, my eyes whirling excitedly while my lids struggle to stay open, and all the while a sense of hunger towards something ambiguous and guilt. But, for the sake of coherence inside of my brain, I suppose it's this morning, the closest and most relevant.
Almost like it was procedure, Sorrow's head turned to the side, like his eyes refused to witness what was happening to me. I say that, but it's not like it's out of my control. There's nothing overpowering me to satiate this bloodlust, it's simply me letting myself off the leash a little. I would like to say that it's my own self-control, but it's been borrowed, learned, restructured to fit me. Anyway, I guess what I'm feeling is that, while all these sensations give the impression of unadulterated self-indulgence without any strings attached, there's actually quite a bit of foresight that goes into these outbursts. Like a middle-aged lady who justified her habit of devouring sweets while on a diet by setting parameters and controlling her intake. It's just a longer, roundabout, maybe more controlled way of self-indulgence.
Once I had sputtered out bits and pieces of bone that had managed to pierce into the heart like shrapnel, Sorrow took his weight off the slowly melting, no, bubbling up and down corpse of the monster. 
Not yet willing to let his guard down, though, his Rabbit Hole was firmly in place.
Despite crashing through a couple of levels, it wasn't like the hallways were any less narrow, and so there was only a limited distance he could wander off to while still keeping an eye on that pulsating mass at my feet. Reaching a far end, right before a corner turn into the damp stairwell, he pulled out his phone and began to ring headquarters.
Pulling his hand through his long curls, I could almost see the strands peeling away from stress, and although still a little dazed from a mix of blood loss and intake, the loop dizzying me a little, I felt bad for causing just a little extra bit of distress for him on this mission.
"Mmgghm"
All of a sudden, my body twitched and turned rigid.
My eyes were locked on Sorrow, who was turning around restlessly, looking out towards the blistering sunlight and its ripples of heat, but beside me I could feel something moving slowly, like the slight sounds and sweeping movements were vibrating against my skin, putting my hairs on end.
Slowly, quietly, anxiously, I turned to face the low swishing sound.
...it was a girl, not quite tall, but a lithe, with willowy fingers that were clutching at her long, almond-coloured waves of hair, and two scarlet eyes peeked out from beneath her swirly bangs that reached down to the tip of her small nose. Her features seemed somehow distant, ethereal, like the characteristics of an older lady superimposed over the composition of an adolescent. Her body, thin like her limbs, was weighed down by the black and crimson carcass of the monster... rather, it was almost like she was being birthed from that dark ribcage, emerging from the tar like some extinct animal. I don't remember a porcelain skinned, almost doll-like animal buried in the La Brea Tar Pits though.
Maybe a new human on the evolution of man chain?
An offshoot, where instead of ugly, fleshy skin, they evolved into ceramic creatures, like living gemstones, brittle, thin, but beautiful.
...well, jokes aside, I had to do something about this.
Her eyes were looking up at me in their scarlet expanse with fishes of despair and worry dashing across them.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Uh? uh, I'm, well, I suppose I freed you?"
"Get your fingers away from me, you disgusting human. I needed no such saving!"
And with that, she tried in vain to break free, struggling against the thick substance, and I didn't know whether I should be looking while the sticky tar-like flesh of the monster thinned and cascaded down her body like slowed water.
"Get your eyes offa me!"
I guess I should look away.
It was kind of cute how, in her embarrassment, her morphology had shifted to a rural accent, without as much haughtiness.
I glanced at Sorrow, still mumbling while he strolled across the thin open hallway, not once looking our way, although from his position, it might just look like the monster's corpse was continuing to billow and reverberate with its strangely persistent dying throes.
Without looking at her exposed skin, the porcelain beige running down her entire body, I tried to help peel away the layer of dark film attached to her, growing opaque as it began to dilute and fall away.
Somehow, she didn't offer much resistance, other than scrunching up her nose at me, and refusing eye contact.
She didn't seem all that worried about my executing her in the same way as that monster she had emerged from.
Maybe she didn't think I was serious enough of a threat.
Maybe she wasn't aware of her surroundings enough to be worried.
It's also possible that, in her haughtiness, she didn't want to show it, or really just didn't care.
Soon, rather than being encircled in the monster's ribs of blackness, her own ribs were exposed to the warm sunbeams, and I could see that, rather than being exceptionally thin, she was rather big, but somehow, willowy in a way that gave the impression of a smaller person.
It was extremely disconcerting, and kind of strange, but she nonetheless still resembled a doll, perfectly sculpted to the eye of the sculptor.
Maybe that's what threw me off.
No human looks like this.
Following her oval, scarlet eyes, ringed with long black eyelashes that curved slightly less upwards than usual, giving her a melancholic, almost quietly thoughtful look that clashed with her arrogance, it seemed she had noticed Sorrow pacing like a child that's just being called up to the head office.
...
Now was the time to make a decision.
I wasn't exactly familiar with these kinds of situations, I had not experience of knowledge to draw off from, but somehow, some feeling inside me, some sentiment told me that alerting Sorrow wouldn't lead to any kind of amicable outcome.
Maybe it was the parts of it I had digested that gave me some unconscious, deeper insight into whatever this thing was.
Maybe it was influencing me from the inside.
But whatever it was, there was also something else influencing me, lightly tapping me on the shoulder, reminding me that the gust of wind always blowing against my back, pushing me forward when I let it and causing problems when I resisted the flow, was its doing, its kindhearted, strong willpower.
There was a person here in front of me, a person who, having emerged from a monster we had just gone to the trouble of executing, who has no rights in this world, is looked at as something, from its birth, instantly set for extermination, where resources, time, manpower - people's wills, their ideologies, their life and their regrets, their pasts and their futures - are focused on the endless destruction of their kind; was there really any other future for this thing that resembled a human, but that same fate?
Sure, there might be hesitation, some people might fight for its longevity, either out of morbid interest or concern for a being holding life and, seemingly, consciousness, but there was really nothing stopping them from being treated like a monster's offspring, an evolved form. Hell, there had been rumours for as long as I can remember of similar, almost conscious beings born from these things, Jabberwockies had sprung up every now and then.
Of course, I was in no state for serious deliberation either.
But I know what kind of person I am.
I'm not the kind of adult that espouses morality and values while faltering under logic and explanatory justifications.
Even aside from all that long-winded nonsense, I'm not the kind of human that will let an arrogant, haughty girl, brimming with life to the point that, in such a small amount of time, her sense of self has already impressed itself on me, meet any kind of undeserved fate.
Even if it was deserved, I would push her away from it.
I guess, maybe I'm the more arrogant one here...
But none of that matters.
No matter how many nice-sounding words I throw out, how many bits of justification float across my brain, or ideals are splintered and exposed for their true meaning.
I will save this girl.