This is a RESPONSE CYOA post. Choose EITHER THE BLACK OR WHITE pillar (one of the two options), hit the spoiler button, and then read everything else that applies to what your character might say or respond to. This is how much your character ICly knows - Remember this also doubles as your death solo thread. Death Solos are one of the GMs most favourite things to read when judging things...
exclaimWARNING: THIS POST HAS MASSIVE SPOILERS WHICH YOUR CHARACTER WILL ENCOUNTER LATER ON. READ AT YOUR OWN RISKexclaim
You have fallen in battle. Several emotions flash through you, and for a second, you feel cheated. What did it even mean, to fight, to fight for your King, your Kingdom, what was your only purpose? You try to think back, to memories of the past, memories that happen, but the more you try to grasp at them, the more hollow they feel. What does it even mean to have fought as you did, nothing less, nothing more?
You see in front of you two pillars, one black, one white.
"Do you wish to know a secret?"
Pick the White Pillar:
"Let me tell you a story," The White Pillar begins, "It is a noble story, wrought with promise and tragedy. There once was a Great King, the greatest perhaps of his time, and when he died, he left behind his legacy. Several objects of power, bearing pieces of his memory. Though most rested, one, daunted by time and cast away in ruins, waiting for the return of its true King, was wrought with doubt."
"It was the proudest marking of the noble King, the sign of power and ascension, and it grew weary of simply waiting. 'Why,' thought the symbol of Pride, 'If the King will not return to me, I will create myself a True King, and bestow upon him my throne and my power.' "
"The corruption spread, and so did its emotion. It stole from the world that it was no longer a part of what it fancied candidates and drew from them fragments of their memory, locking them into its own trials."
"Unfortunately, this story has a sad ending. Look below you, at your shadow."
Pick the Black Pillar:
"You are pitiful, and so powerless," the Black Pillar sneers, "If there is anything you can learn from this, it is you easily you are washed away by others. It is surprising you even understand me, being what you are, a creation of a creation, of the accursed Great King, who sealed your fate. The same Great King who sealed me, who left in this world items of power, and thus began the destruction of the same world he sought to protect. You are not my creation though, but a creation of Pride, it is not my responsibility to save imperfections such as you."
"If you do not believe me, simply look below you, at your shadow."
You look at your shadow
Underneath you is an empty mirror, of yourself, blacked and hollowed out. And then slowly, the reflection swirls. You see something, a figure moving with colours so painfully vibrant, their actions so oddly familiar, nostalgic. It is you, but not you. They turn to look at your direction, and you feel a strange coldness run through you. You feel like you should know something, a tug, a memory, anything, but the only feeling is emptiness. The Pillar speaks.
"You are they. But they are not you. You were created from them, a fragment. You were created as a perfect puppet to orchestrate a perfect play. You were created to break, because you are not real."
"I don't understand..."
The Pillar gives the equivalent of a mental shrug. "Shadow, fragment, replica. You are a fake. Your existence was artificially created, and thus, artificially taken from you. You will die without ever existing."
You feel yourself fading away.
"Come now, do you really think that is your end? Do you know how long I have waited for someone to actually converse with me? Pride is not my calling, but I will not deny myself a little bit of indulgence. Come a little closer, and I shall grant you a small favour. Call it a whim."
You walk a little closer. The light/darkness is overbearing.
"You haven't finished your role, not quite yet. Why don't you go back, say a final goodbye, just this once? Once you have said goodbye, then I will come back to claim you, and the last of your memory will fade with your existence. Even fragments deserve their own piece of reality. When the time comes, when Pride's throne finally breaks, then consider the favour returned in full. Really, it's much more entertaining this way."
If you are a wild card:
"Now I just feel like I'm repeating myself. Well, if you insist on going back yet another time, to another story. There's still a little bit of time before everything ends..."
The last thing you see is the pillar fading away before you rather suddenly feel a tug -
- And wake up.
OOC
Your character is "awake" again. While it may have been hard to understand what the pillars told you, you inherently understand its intentions and more so, yourself. You are a fragment. You weren't the creature you had been told but simply a pulled memory of someone else, your reflection. That makes you fake. That makes everything you have created and learned not real.
That means as you wake up, and walk into battle again, you know the next time you die will truly be your last, if you can even call it death.
- Please write a reaction and EXIT post before you leave! You respawn either in your Kingdom or back on the battlefield. - Your character has been reset with the same HP and stats as a WILD CARD. Their appearance is different too, simple and plain-looking - They CAN use a Wild Card's ability to realign themselves if they want - If your character was already a Silver, then congratulations... they are a silver again. - If you die again before "everything ends" and end up here, you will continuously respawn as Silvers pretty much, until your character is finally ready to depart (then come back here, don't write a solo, and simply have them reach for the Pillars one last time, since the favour has been paid for in full)" - This is a chance for characters to interact with existing characters, talk it out, maximum feels, whatever you want. They can share what they learned here. They remember this experience. If you still want to defend your King or Queen or anything really, you still can.
Cut it open, take out its heart, and it will grow a new one. Amputate a left leg, a right arm, and it will regenerate on the operating table. It's done it before. It will do it again. They document it, they analyze it, and then they take out their scalpels and start over again.
The parameters of grief; it is energy. It cannot be created, it cannot be destroyed. Grief stays when everything else withers. Grief is a voice, a name, a memory. It spawns new meanings each time it appears, and each one seems more violent and unstable than the last. It burns and tastes and touches and destroys everything it touches, consuming and consuming until it is the only thing left. It inhabits the body like an infection, but theres no vaccine that can keep it away. Grief is an equation. E=MC2.
Madeline sits in a sterile room, and the colors on the walls have all bled out. The smell of surgical equipment and linoleum floors seems almost potent. Here in this world, everything starts out white. Starts out as nothing at all. But then they cut, and the tear, and the floors start to stain red. There are scalpels in their hands, and they dot the lines and open skin, sticking their hands in and pulling emotions and memories out. It's all precise. Logical, cold. They pull it all out and they cover the walls in their mess, because they are trying to get to the root in the body, the tumor they cannot cure. They are trying to eradicate grief. She blinks, and the hollow cavity inside of her body ignites like a starburst. She remembers happiness first.
("Congratulations, and welcome aboard," A man says, and shakes her hand as she steps into the clean infirmary and spirals on her feet, inhaling the scent of death and sterile tools. "Try not to kill anyone too soon.")
She closes her eyes as the walls begin to slip like static between colors and memories. She feels like there are hands in her body, that they've opened her skin from her shoulders to her stomach, that they've cracked her ribs and they're slowly pulling everything apart. And they're still looking, always looking, filling the room with color and life, and hollowing her out as they continue their work. And slowly, the happiness fades, and it is replaced by a deep and sudden ache. This, she realizes sluggishly, is sadness, pain.
(Her back arches painfully off of the ground and she gags and retches up blood, and the body next to her isn't moving, isn't breathing, and she's got to do something - anything - but there's glass embedded in her abdomen and she knows she's only got minutes until she bleeds out completely - )
The memory disappears like a wisp. Madeline looks up, and the walls are white again. She feels shorter bursts now of longing, want, love, confusion, anger, hate, rage. She sees places, and people, but they're not important anymore. They've been removed, like a tumor from her body. They're leaving behind empty spaces, hollow cavities, because someone is still cutting into her. They just haven't had the decency to stop.
- Someone smiles at her, and he's confessing love. There's a body on her table - it's someone she used to care about. Her fist connects with someones face; her eyes half-lid, and she laughs because someone just called her gorgeous. A girl with bright hair and scales on her shirt is laying on her bed, and they've finally gotten to a first name basis, and they're sharing books. There's a sound like a crack of lightning that she realizes is a baseball colliding with a bat, and it ignites excitement in her like wildfire -
These are memories, and they should be important. Instead, they are all hollow and far away. They don't matter. A detached part of her mind is remembering that she might have once been human. That's all. That's it. She thinks that she's been cheated. This isn't fair. She had a life ahead of her - but it had all been meaningless. After all (bitterness, she figures out, is now in her system, replacing a short-lived sense of pride), she had just been alive for the sake of her King. She had died for him too. And for what, for love? For honor, for duty? For a man who would rather take two of his own than show the world outside his face?
Was that her only purpose on this earth, on that ship, for being born at all? To die a faceless sacrifice? A part of her mind struggles, angry. No, it is saying, that's wrong - that's all wrong.
The emotions fade though, and with them, the sharpness of memories corrode. Madeline grasps at them uselessly - catches glimpses in her mind of places and strangers she used to know. But all they seemed like were paintings, the people in them marionettes and dolls. Did they ever really matter? Were they ever that important important? She thinks about Dakota, and Ami, and Wilson. Kat, Ryan. They're blurry in her mind, and when she tries to focus on the features she'd once studied, they shatter and leave a vacant space behind.
Madeline sits in a sterile room and clenches her fists, because suddenly its all just a cosmic joke, a cheat. It all feels wrong.
But everything fades until she is hollow and empty again.
The parameters of grief; it cannot be killed. Grief is a constant, a date, an existence that continues beyond death. Grief is a sterile room, grief is everywhere. Slowly, memories slip away from her, and with them, the sense of the room, the cool floor pressing to her cheek, until all of the lines recede and the world is blanketed in a white haze; an absence of color, an absence of reality and existence, or whatever it was she had been given back on that ship, that place. She cannot feel a body, if she has one anymore, if she ever had one to begin with. She imagines herself as energy, just the same as grief. She cannot be destroyed, only transferred. She is floating in this world, in this white haze of existence and nonexistence between one abstract space and the next, her only companion the white hollow cavity of heartache. And she can only think helplessly that maybe this was a dream, that perhaps one day she'd wake up from this cold, cold place, and things would be different. Things would be right.
Because in a world where everything bleeds away into nothingness, and existence has ceased to be, grief remains beyond death.
God. Madeline thinks, and the last of her conscience wills herself to be angry, to yell and scream and fight because its not fair, this isn't how it was supposed to be beyond death. She closes her eyes, and the rest of the world fades into nothing but white haze. She is a fragment, and she is drifting, and grief is the passenger that waits and bides its time and stays with her stubbornly beyond the end.
God, pity me.
keiifuu
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Miliardo Kason
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Posted: Fri Jan 25, 2013 8:37 pm
The liquor was warm in her throat, very much the opposite of the cold piece of metal that was pressed against the back of her head, violet eyes closed shut and somewhere she swore she heard the ticking of a clock, tick, tock, tick, tock. It would all be over soon, the world would go dark and she could finally sleep and be away from the noise, the chaos, and the suffering of this life.
She thought of a girl in black, she thought of Nuk, she thought of the few redeeming points of things in this world as Harrison pulled the trigger. Perhaps, perhaps she had done the wrong things for the right reason, to protect the one she had loved, to protect those she somehow grew to love in a short time. All of that would have been a lovely thought except for the pain, the twisting agony of her body peeling apart from the inside out eaten away into the Miasma it was born from. Sammy went to scream, but found she had no mouth, her corporal form long gone as the last bits of her mind fell apart falling into the world beyond the one she had called home.
But as the pain faded the memories became clear, the poor choices, the hurt feelings, the denial of friends and happiness to further herself and a kingdom. Every moment seemed off, that the choices, good or bad all rang with the same empty feeling. A life incomplete, cut down in its prime? No not quiet, she had made this choice. It was the one choice that wasn’t fully hollow. Loyalty. But to who? To what? To a king who had up until these past few days never directly spoke to her? Who had sent her on jobs that some would say where crimes against humanity and other lives? Was her loyalty to him?
No. It was to an idea, a strange idea that rang somewhat less hollow then the others. She was Loyal to herself, to her ideas. A cause to die for to fight for, wrong or right the choice she made was to be loyal. Yet it was still wrong, she had died to give Rep a chance, to give the man she recalled feeling a strange connection too in the ruined towers. Yet in the last minutes she looked back and saw something was wrong, that even the one thing she thought was right, the emotions between two people, where hollow and empty. For a moment anger at her choice swelled up in what was left of her mind. Maybe she had made a mistake, maybe she had died for the wrong reasons.
Still she did get her one wish, she felt it creeping in, a calmness and silence that made even her thoughts seem quiet and distance as something came to swallow her up. It was like the Silver Kingdoms silent ruins, hollow or not, all the memories of noise and chaos where slipping away, sacred silence and sleep creeping like a growing corrosion into the last of her mind, the pain was almost gone, she knew when it ended that one sure fact would be that she too was truly gone.
And then she simply was; she finally was asleep gone into the dark to have the rest she had longed for with the last worrying doubt that all of it simply wasn’t quite right and that hopefully G would be on the other side with her.
Posted: Fri Jan 25, 2013 9:43 pm
Bang.
The bullet collided into the base of his skull, his mouth flying open with surprise at the terrible agony that seared through his entire form. He’d never been shot before, and there was nothing that could have prepared him for the sensation of his skin catching on fire and literally dissolving away. A hoarse, guttural scream ripped itself from his melting lips, and the big man hit the floor, his body spasming with the intense pain.
Brave, his family had called him. G didn't feel brave, weeping and thrashing in death throes on the floor. Sammy was somewhere nearby, undoubtedly going through the same unbearable sensation. He could almost guarantee that she wasn't crying and making a damned fool of herself. They all would have been ready to face death, gracefully and fearlessly.
All of them save for him.
His fingers scrabbled desperately against the floor, searching for something—anything—to stop the pain. It was hard not to reflect on how far he’d come, the memories ripping through his mind in violent, colorful flashes.
He’d been a child, overlarge and painfully shy. A constant disappointment to his father when he came home from school covered in bruises and cuts, unable to bring himself to lash out with his fists even in self-defense. A sweet boy, but stupid, and it made him a prime target for bullies.
As teenager he’d struggled through the most simple of school subjects until he had been expelled for his poor grades. Mentally challenged, the teachers whispered, and it had been the final straw for his father. Meek and eternally obedient, his mother had stood by and done nothing when he was bodily tossed to the curb to fend for himself. Gargantuan didn’t harbor any resentment towards her: too often he had laid awake in his bed, listening to her shriek and plead while his father struck her again and again and again.
Hunger became his only companion, gnawing constantly at his insides and withering his stout frame to something pathetic and brittle. Scrounging in dumpsters for scraps soon became a fine art, and he soon learned just how spoiled food could be before it made you sick enough that you wished you were dead. Some days he didn't get to eat at all, and some nights were so cold that near frostbite was his most vicious acquaintance.
It would have been easy to turn to drugs or alcohol, but even months later, his father’s bitter words rang constantly in his head. That alone was enough to keep him clean, though there were days he longed for some sort of escape. Some days were better than others, but most of them were worse. An impulse raged in the back of his mind, urging him to take the easy way out. All it would take was one moving car, one strung-out addict that Gargantuan could push to the edge.
For whatever reason, he never did.
And now he laid on the ground, weeping bitterly as his anguished screams faded from pleading cries to hoarse, gasping breaths. His skin crackled and burned, the immolation searing away his imperfections through heat and flame and quickly evaporating tears. A whimper stirred in his throat now and again, too a pathetic mewl of sound.
Thinking became more difficult.
On that fateful day, Harrison had found him. G would never know why the boss of the Blue Kingdom would even waste time looking at a mongrel like him, but his father had always said he’d never known anything worth knowing. The man took him in anyway: gave him a job, put a roof over his head. More importantly though, he had promised Gargantuan something that all the comforts in the world couldn't begin to touch. A family.
Now, here he was, choking on his own dissolving mess of a tongue, crying out on the floor for his family. With his death, they would live on. Harrison would live on.
But as he lay there dying, a traitorous slip of a thought passed through his mind. Was it worth it?
Angrily, he smashed it down again, rage bubbling up in his throat like a living, molten thing. Or maybe that was just his throat being eaten away like the rest of him. It was impossible for him to say.
Pain was everything now, vast and overwhelming.
He had told Taima that he had wanted to be an astronaut, to play among the stars and look down on the Earth from high above, a god among mortals. Each memory was true, but now, they rang off-tune.
He had lived, fought, and died for his King. To what end? What good what his paltry sacrifice do for any of them?
If he had gained this new life and new family through Harrison, then why did he feel so empty? Why did he feel as though each vivid recollection was little more than a farce? Questions, always questions, and he was too stupid to ever come up with any real answers.
Why would a man that chose not to fight end up in such a violent world? He was no longer so certain he hadn't put the gun to his head himself and pulled the trigger after all. Maybe none of it had ever been real. Maybe he'd died long ago, and this was all some strange, twisted illusion.
His breath choked, then slipped out in a final despairing sigh as his body melted away into nothingness. He knew he would never be forgiven--but hopefully, he'd be given some peace.
Moriko floated through time and space. Her vision was black and she could neither see nor hear anything. Yet she could still feel. She could feel the emptiness inside of her, the hollow saddness spreading to every bit of her subconscious, and she could feel the confusion. Why had she chosen to fight for a King that she had only known for a few hours? Why had she forsaken the Silver Kingdom in the first place? And what had it brought her other than death?
A face flashed before Moriko's eyes. The young face of her best and only friend Sigrun. How had it come to this? For a brief moment Moriko felt regret for having not survived long enough to ensure her friend's survival. If only she could know that Sig would be safe then perhaps she could be at peace, maybe even happy. If there was anything that Momo had ever wanted it was to keep her best friend alive at all costs and she had gladly laid down her life to do so.
Moriko throught back to their time in the marketplace. They had been ecstatic to be going to the Green Kingdom together and couldn't wait to leave. What was only hours felt as if it had been a lifetime ago. The image changed then, morphing into a new scene but the picture was a little hazy. She could see a cabin in the woods, there was smoke coming from the chimney and she could smell a fresh kill roasting over the fire. Sigrun stood just outside the door waving her in for something to eat. She smiled then, smiled remembering that her only friend in the world had started out as a complete stranger. Yet they had quickly grown a deep connection between the two of them. She tried to hold onto the memory, to dig deeper yet it became less tangible and slowly faded away like smoke in the wind.
For a brief moment Moriko tried to hold onto Sigrun's memory, to picture her face. Yet the more she struggled to hold on the harder it was. What did it matter anymore? Moriko wouldn't ever be able to help her friend again and the world would go on. She had fought for her friend, for a Kingdom that had collapsed, and to keep another one from falling. Yet in the end she had died in her first battle, died before she could even save the one she loved.
Posted: Fri Jan 25, 2013 11:33 pm
OOC
This is a RESPONSE CYOA post. Choose EITHER THE BLACK OR WHITE pillar (one of the two options), hit the spoiler button, and then read everything else that applies to what your character might say or respond to. This is how much your character ICly knows
exclaimWARNING: THIS POST HAS MASSIVE SPOILERS WHICH YOUR CHARACTER WILL ENCOUNTER LATER ON. READ AT YOUR OWN RISKexclaim
You see in front of you two pillars, one black, one white.
Do you wish to know a secret?
Pick the White Pillar:
"Let me tell you a story," The White Pillar begins, "It is a noble story, wrought with promise and tragedy. There once was a Great King, the greatest perhaps of his time, and when he died, he left behind his legacy. Several objects of power, bearing pieces of his memory. Though most rested, one, daunted by time and cast away in ruins, waiting for the return of its true King, was wrought with doubt."
"It was the proudest marking of the noble King, the sign of power and ascension, and it grew weary of simply waiting. 'Why,' thought the symbol of Pride, 'If the King will not return to me, I will create myself a True King, and bestow upon him my throne and my power.' "
"The corruption spread, and so did its emotion. It stole from the world that it was no longer a part of what it fancied candidates and drew from them fragments of their memory, locking them into its own trials."
"Unfortunately, this story has a sad ending. Look below you, at your shadow."
Pick the Black Pillar:
"You are pitiful, and so powerless," the Black Pillar sneers, "If there is anything you can learn from this, it is you easily you are washed away by others. It is surprising you even understand me, being what you are, a creation of a creation, of the accursed Great King, who sealed your fate. The same Great King who sealed me, who left in this world items of power, and thus began the destruction of the same world he sought to protect. You are not my creation though, but a creation of Pride, it is not my responsibility to save imperfections such as you."
"If you do not believe me, simply look below you, at your shadow."
You look at your shadow
Underneath you is an empty mirror, of yourself, blacked and hollowed out. And then slowly, the reflection swirls. You see something, a figure moving with colours so painfully vibrant, their actions so oddly familiar, nostalgic. It is you, but not you. They turn to look at your direction, and you feel a strange coldness run through you. You feel like you should know something, a tug, a memory, anything, but the only feeling is emptiness. The Pillar speaks.
"You are they. But they are not you. You were created from them, a fragment. You were created as a perfect puppet to orchestrate a perfect play. You were created to break, because you are not real."
"I don't understand..."
The Pillar gives the equivalent of a mental shrug. "Shadow, fragment, replica. You are a fake. Your existence was artificially created, and thus, artificially taken from you. You will die without ever existing."
You feel yourself fading away.
"Come now, do you really think that is your end? Do you know how long I have waited for someone to actually converse with me? Pride is not my calling, but I will not deny myself a little bit of indulgence. Come a little closer, and I shall grant you a small favour. Call it a whim."
You walk a little closer. The light/darkness is overbearing.
"You haven't finished your role, not quite yet. Why don't you go back, say a final goodbye, just this once? Once you have said goodbye, then I will come back to claim you, and the last of your memory will fade with your existence. Even fragments deserve their own piece of reality. When the time comes, when Pride's throne finally breaks, then consider the favour returned in full. Really, it's much more entertaining this way."
If you are a wild card:
"Now I just feel like I'm repeating myself. Well, if you insist on going back yet another time, to another story. There's still a little bit of time before everything ends..."
The last thing you see is the pillar fading away before you rather suddenly feel a tug -
- And wake up.
OOC
Your character is "awake" again. While it may have been hard to understand what the pillars told you, you inherently understand its intentions and more so, yourself. You are a fragment. You weren't the creature you had been told but simply a pulled memory of someone else, your reflection. That makes you fake. That makes everything you have created and learned not real.
That means as you wake up, and walk into battle again, you know the next time you die will truly be your last, if you can even call it death.
- Please write a reaction and EXIT post before you leave! - Your character has been reset with the same HP and stats as a WILD CARD. Their appearance is different too, simple and plain-looking - They CAN use a Wild Card's ability to realign themselves if they want - If your character was already a Silver, then congratulations... they are a silver again. - Wild Cards CAN realign themselves with a Kingdom... if they so wish - If you die again before "everything ends" and end up here, you will continuously respawn as Silvers pretty much, until your character is finally ready to depart (then come back here, don't write a solo, and simply have them reach for the Pillars one last time, since the favour has been paid for in full)" - This is a chance for characters to interact with existing characters, talk it out, maximum feels, whatever you want. They can share what they learned here. They remember this experience. If you still want to defend your King or Queen or anything really, you still can.
Curling up and clutching his whip, Etzer felt the coldness of it seep through his skin, his breath coming shorter and shallower with each moment.
He was dead. This was his life, ebbing away.
Throughout his childhood, he had attempted to grow stronger, to hone his skills… but it was of no use. Everything he did was a mere shadow of what others could do, of what others had accomplished. He was nothing, and would never amount to anything in his life.
Memories flooded his mind; his parents always supportive, but pity always in their eyes, others who scoffed at him any time they’d see him, bullies who shoved him into the mud, made fun of his hair, adults who never gave him a chance. He had tried so hard in making things beautiful with his ice sculptures, attempting to put in every bit of his effort.
It wasn’t until later, upon finding out about the kingdom that he wanted to give it his all, despite his parents’ wishes. They begged him not to go, begged him to stay and not go to war…
How right they’d been, but… for that short moment… he had lived. He had truly been given purpose for his King, and felt alive. That last battle had been amazing, up until the end. It had his blood pumping and his heart racing, making him feel like he was actually making a difference.
The King had given him a chance. She accepted his speech, taken him under her wing, accepted him for who he was without any thought. He’d given it his all, and he had failed her… twice. And the last time, he’d gotten to see her face, fading from his vision…
Was it even worth it? Was it even worth it? He’d attempted to hold on as long as he could, but in the end… nothing mattered. Nothing at all. He was nothing, and would never amount to anything. Even his brief moment in the Kingdom had meant nothing, even though he’d tried.
Feeling truly and utterly broken, Etzer finally let go of his emotions, openly sobbing as his vision faded…
Everything was worthless. He was worthless, a space of life that never meant to amount to anything. If only… if only he had made a difference, made some kind of impact…
… and he fell into nothing.
-------
He was staring at his reflection.
No, not his reflection. He was the reflection.
Staring at it longer only made him angrier, and his nostrils flared as he attempted to keep his anger under control. Just a fragment, nothing more than a fragment...
His hand shot out and shattered his reflection, watching as the pieces dissipated into nothing. Was this him, then? Was he meant to amount to nothing, absolutely nothing at all?
Yes.
He wanted to live. He wanted to be himself. The cheeky b*****d staring at him in the mirror was not him. He would make his own story, and become his own person.
The Voice be damned.
[ Exit ]
Posted: Sat Jan 26, 2013 3:41 am
Her fingers glided over the white pillars surface, drawn in to the strange artifact that seemed shrouded in peaceful calm. She listened to it "speak", if speaking was what it was doing at all. It explained to her the past, the present, and herself. Her hand dropped, and when the pillar asked her to look at her shadow, her eyes turned without permission, gliding over the darkness at her feet. At first it was a mirror; empty, hollow. And then it was something else entirely. A figure moving with vibrant, exotic colors, laughing, smiling, existing. Whole.
And then she realized it. The hollow cavity in her chest wasn't a joke. She'd been ripped and molded from this person's existence, just a fragment of a person. A shadow, she realized, of something real. And every memory, every event up until now that she'd had - that was just part of a false identity, a lie to make up a fake existence. She felt her body began to fade as the pillars continued to speak, their words mingling in the dark nothingness above. It talked of great kings, and Pride's throne. It told her to say goodbye. But who was she supposed to say goodbye to? Wilson? Kat, Ryan, Dakota, Ami? If her existence was artificial, if she was just alive to perform a part and this was mercy before the end, then why did it even matter?
The fragment spiraled on the spot, staring down at the girl reflected below. A sudden, belly-deep loathing spread in her gut. She'd been created from this - this person. This vibrant, colorful, whole person. And why? To fill a part in a play? A part of her wished that she'd stayed dead. Was this really a favor? If it was, it wasn't one she wanted. But there was a pulling in her core, and when she looked up again the pillar was fading from sight.
Her throat coiled around words - wait, stop, no - but they were all in vain.
There was a sharp, sudden pull, and the fragment gasped -
Oh joy. She was dying. ******** this was. In all sense her death was a honorable one. For what more could a warrior ask for? To be struck down in the middle of a gigantic battle, having already claimed the life of the enemy. Yeah, yeah, whoopy-friggin-do. In the end, did any of this mean anything? It was as if time had stood still for a fraction of a second. She saw the ground was reaching up to meet her, but would she even last that long? She didn't know or didn't care at this point.
It was hard to describe what she felt. Cynical, regret, grief, anger, sadness, relief (it was all about to end, all this pain) mixed in her mind to make a cocktail that could be called suffering. In a effort to escape her mind reached back to the memories she had upon the ship. Moving back towards a time less brutal as she tried to escape the ever present pain. Her mind focused on these memories for the very last time.
She had boarded a small ship off her native planet. Her mother was waving on as she bid her child farewell. She said she would be back, with many a story to tell of her travels. The ship itself took her to another planet made for trade, and that was where she had found the Cargo ship. A gigantic vessel, it called out to her with a promise of adventure, of distant worlds and great treasures to find. She boarded it with high hopes.
There had not been much to do on the ship however, except take to your quarters and wait for the next destination. It was there she had started to wander the levels, and found that some of the other passengers had been just as bored, but took to more dangerous activates.
"Help! Someone please!"
"Give us all your money!"
It had been a simple thing to do. A few punches, and the bandits were down, the women thanking her over and over. The feelings she had felt had encouraged her to become a self appointed guard. She patrolled the ships, keeping a eye out for other riff-raf that would do the same. It was a bit after that when they had landed on a strange planet that was crawling with monsters, Yellow beasts with many eyes, tough skin and many teeth to match their ferocity. It was then she had be given a high-tech bazooka.
Use this! It's the only thing that'll keep the monsters away!
She had used it all right. While others were screaming and crying, she had marched forth with that bazooka and shot down the invading monsters. Many of the passengers had cheered for her when she had returned to that ship. They had called her a hero, and that joy and pride had carried her onwards. Even now she could hear them.
Her next challenge had been when the ship crashed. She had been in her room when the sirens had sounded. Everyone had been running around trying to figure out what to do. Some had even turned to her.
Pokerus, what do we do? The ships about to crash!
It had been the one time she could not help them. She tried to assure them to keep calm, that everything would be fine. But she had been thrown against the wall as soon as the ship had hit the ground, and the blow knocked her unconscious. When she next awoke, she came to the sounds of panic. The engines had been damaged beyond repair. They were all doomed. Trapped on this alien world forever.
EVERYONE CALM THE ******** DOWN She roared at the top of her lungs. Keep your wits about you! We're alive aren't we? That's the thing that matters! We'll get off this stupid planet. It may take a few weeks, a few months, but we'll escape!
Brave words. Brave words that had brought a fake promise to the passengers and to herself.
But all this...all this paled to the grief that she felt now. The memories were still fresh in her mind.
"My name is Pokerus. I am a Drogiam from the Wuqkez System. My race is proud and strong, and the urge to battle thrives in our veins. The sea and sky is our domain.
"I'd be glad to throw myself in front of danger, and I ain't afraid to take down anyone who is a threat to our safety."
"I swear on the pride and strength of my people that I will defend you all to my very last breath!"
She could still feel the cold metal of the necklace in her palm, feel the surge of power that it had brought.
But it wasn't enough. What she wanted now was to see her friends again. Wanted to see Mitsu and her bright smile. Dakota and his flirting ways. To hear the commander and his reassuring words. They could all be on the ship again, making the engines work and making their escape.
Yes, she thought as her eyes closed, her conscious dwindling away. That was she wanted...Maybe if she thought really hard... she would see it. But the more she tried to grasp the pieces of her identity, the more they began to slip away. Everything was going. She struggled to grasp onto a single thing. No, there was one thing...The ship....
Alas, just like the great ship Feirg. her body crashed into the earth, the last thoughts of the ship someday flying back into space where it belonged.
Posted: Sat Jan 26, 2013 7:31 am
[[Enter from Battle]]
Even in the foggy and dark void he'd begun to fall into after falling in battle to protect his King, he felt a warm and comforting presence hold him close. However, that warmth gave way to cold. A cold emptiness that broke him into fragments. Diluted pieces of what he once was.
Mot wasn't even sure who he was anymore. He was dead, that much was certain. He wasn't even sure how he died. It came so fast and swift he'd not noticed he was down until it was almost over.
But now that it was indeed over.. what now? All he coud do was reflect, as he felt the pieces of his former self slip away. Was it worth it? Why was it he followed his King in the first place? Why did he have such loyalty to his Kingdom at all? His life up to that point, what had he truly done worth noting? He.. couldn't really recall. There was no big event, or particular rhyme or reason. What had his Kingdom done for him? His life was now over. Would the others live on? Would their Kingdom once again flourish, or was this bloody feud some game for a higher power to chuckle at while twirling a glass of red wine.
Mot felt a bitterness fill the voids that were now left behind, as his sense of self fell to ruin. Even his own name felt a lie. Everything he thought he knew, the people he thought he cared about.
Did he really?
In the dark void of his heart, he saw two shapes. Everything was so silent. Everything so dark. Save for these shapes. One was a radiant white, glowing like a beacon. The other an abysmal black, that only stood out in the darkness that existed already because of how much darker it was from the void. They seemed to whisper to him. Did he seek a dark place to fester his bitter heart? Or did he seek enlightenment, a place to set his soul free of this darkness that was growing?
He'd had friends, right? He'd been there for others, and they for him? But... was that real? Genuine? Everything seemed so tainted. The proud Red stained a tainted hue. His bitterness began to consume him. He was not worthy of that brilliant white light. It was too pure for him. Too beautiful to touch. No.. he'd much rather let the darkness take him. Even if he spent eternity and a day with this painful feeling... it was what felt real. A painful truth, he'd live with forever.
Somehow it knew. The White pillar all but faded away, and the darker one began to consume him.
And spoke.
Bitter, cold and painful words. But truth. It was all truth. It made him feel even more insignificant as before. He'd been cast aside, left behind. Snuffed out by those so much greater than himself. He was pitiful, right? It was true.. An imperfection, a failure.
Heeding the words of the mysterious and cruel voice, Mot looked down. He'd not expected to find a shadow in such pitch black darkness, but there it was. Hardly a shadow at all, actually, but an empty mirror. It was so empty, so black. A husk of what he thought he was. Just as despair began crawling into what was left of his broken heart, he saw something. Colours swirled and blended until he saw someone. Someone he felt he ought to know. So familiar, and so.. close. Was it.. his reflection? Maybe a him that should have been? But as they turned to him he felt a chill run down into his core. He felt as if he should know what to do. He should know this other self, and the memories that they carried. But there was nothing. Simply a void and a growing emptiness.
He wasn't... real? At all? He never was to begin with. So what had everything meant up to that point? A demented play after all.. a puppet to be danced before a bemused audience. The despair and darkness crept further into the tiny fragments of his heart. Very little seemed to remain there but cold, dark, self pity.
He didn't fully understand. But the voice insisted he was simply a fake. This life was never in existence to begin with. He was going to die, yet he'd never truly lived in the first place. A fragment. A dream.
His despair held off only for a moment, the voice speaking up once more. Mot looked up to where ever he thought that voice was coming from, wondering why after all that, it still insisted he stay. A favour? It would grant a favour for a fake that shouldn't exist?
Mot was hesitant, but what did he have to lose? Nothing he didn't fear being rid of. This empty feeling, this world of cold agony. He walked closer, the darkness getting darker, deeper, colder.
Entertaining?
So he would go back, one last hoorah, just so this Voice would get a little amusement?
The last couple fragments of his heart now crumbled. In the end, even if he was given one last chance... all he was, all he would ever be..
was a puppet.
[[Exiting to Battle once more]]
Bittiface
Sarcastic Hunter
Offline
Sexy Cocaine
Greedy Guest
Offline
Posted: Sat Jan 26, 2013 7:35 am
The only truly fitting death for a person of her caliber was at the hands of an innocent.
The miasma violently ripped her already tattered body to shreds, leaving her a bloody heap on the ground. She looked up at her murderer, at first in surprise. The boy with no blood on his conscience had managed to fell the experienced assassin. She might’ve delighted in the irony, had there not been so much pain.
“Thank you…” She whispered up to him, clenching the gun like her only friend. It was all she could manage at this point as her life went flashing before her eyes. A cruel reminder of her sad existence.
Her first kill. How well she remembered it. Life hadn’t started completely without parents. No, her first years were spent with a woman whom donned the title mother. Riyo wasn’t allowed to go to school. She wasn’t allowed to go outside and play with the other children. She was kept in the hovel they called a basement, like some filthy secret. Things were bleak, and the only joy she managed to find in the wreckage that was her one room of existence was the light from the small, insignificant basement window as the sun rose and the sound of the animals playing outside. The birds, neighbor’s dogs, and sometimes even cats. Then night fell, and the woman was due home. Riyo had never been sure of what she did, but she always looked so important walking through those doors with the suit, tie, and form-fitting skirt.
She was always angry, always unhappy as she crossed the threshold into the basement. She did not exchange words with Riyo, just that look. That look that meant ‘you know what I’m going to do to you so don’t even fight it.’ On a daily basis, Riyo was beaten. Sometimes with hands, sometimes with whatever was conveniently lying around. Sometimes with a knife, and every day when this happened, Riyo imagined she was out there with the animals. Petting their soft fur, admiring their beautiful colors, being kept warm by their heat. It seemed to always be just enough with her. Just enough to keep afloat. Nothing more, nothing less.
Then, one day, as most often things do, everything changed. It was quick, to the point. It was like a knife slicing through butter. For the first time, at her basement window, she saw one of those animals. Small, adorable ears, thick luxurious fur, and a slick, slender form. It’s green eyes beckoned her. Without saying a word, she could hear it speaking to her. “Why do you let yourself rot away in here?” It said. “Come outside. Come play.”
It took Riyo awhile to tear her eyes away from the feline form, turning on her heel to dart up the stairs. It seemed to be too late, however. The door shot open, and she took a tumble.
“Finally trying to escape then? I guess it’s time to do away with you.”
She knew language well enough to understand what that meant, and it triggered something in the little girl. The flight or fight response. The woman disappeared only momentarily to retrieve her pistol, then stood at the top of the stairs and pointed it at Riyo.
Things happened quickly, and the details were always fuzzy to her, but an odd sensation swept through her body, and before she realized, paws were quickly padding up the stairs to the woman, a look of distinct shock on her face. Riyo then found the means to change herself back and shove the woman down the flight of stairs. There were distinct sounds of shrieks and breaking bones.
“You little b***h! You little b***h!” Obviously she was still alive, and in a considerable amount of pain. Riyo’s little body shook at the sight. Something she would marvel in for hours before the woman tried to start moving. It wasn’t an option to leave her alive. This much, the little girl knew.
The gun had been laying a few feet away from the woman, and Riyo skipped over her body to pick it up. Certainly it wasn’t a simple device. She’d had to fiddle with a couple of things while the woman kept screaming and pleading. One shot misfired at the wall. The second pierced the woman’s skull and silenced her.
It was the last time that Riyo wept.
Weeks later, news hit the papers of a small girl who had somehow ended up in one of the cages at the city pound. Her identity unknown and fingerprints unidentifiable, she was sent to the local orphanage, where she finally began learning. A quick learner she was, but for some reason she couldn’t interact with the other children. She wouldn’t interact with the other children. She was sent to foster homes in efforts to make her more social, but each one brought her back with the same problems. She was independently minded and would try to do everything for herself without waiting for instruction, and when things got too harsh, she ran away. Sometimes, the families didn’t understand how she’d managed it.
It wasn’t until she was finally old enough to take care of herself that Riyo became conflicted. She was poor. You needed money to go to college. Money she very obviously didn’t have. Dreams of becoming a veterinarian were put on hold for necessity as she scoured the city trying to find an entry-level position, but even entry-levels require experience.
Then, the second big change occurred. A mugger happened to bark up the wrong tree, and she managed to flatten him without even trying. Someone important happened to see, and that was how she slowly worked up the ranks to where she ended up. Her first thoughts had been ‘I’m only going to do this until I have enough money’, but when you get in with a crew of… Unsavory characters, using the excuse ‘I want to go to college now’, didn’t really fit the bill.
So Riyo did what she could. Adopted cats, bought herself expensive things. She tried to be happy, but all of it was very superficial. By that time, she knew that no man would want a woman with both emotional baggage and ravaged skin. She couldn’t bring herself to confide in anyone. Not even a paid therapist, and the few times she pointed the gun at her own head, Riyo found she was much too cowardly to do it. As if it would be the final nail in a coffin going straight to Hell.
So she just existed. Fearful of getting too close to anybody. Devoured by loneliness until that was all she was. A walking embodiment of loneliness. A sentient animal that refused to acknowledge its sentience most days. Living, but not alive.
Until now, that is.
A few single tears dripped from her eyes as they closed for the last time. “Son, can you play me a memory.” She whispered softly as her body began to dissolve. “I’m not really sure how it goes… But it’s sad and it’s sweet, and I knew it complete, when I wore a younger man’s clothes..”
La da da da de da. Da da da de da.
Posted: Sat Jan 26, 2013 9:07 am
[[Entering from Battle]]
Even before Shun’s next attack Mitsu knew her strength was gone. It was bleeding out of her and pooling at her knees in a dark ring of red. Red. It really was a nice color. So bright and alive, it suited him well she thought. White had been the only color she had known but red she could learn to like. Red she could even learn to love. She believed that with every fiber of her being.
Her rifle slipped from her grasp as he drew closer, clattering against the ground loudly as his arms wrapped around her shoulders. She had been afraid before but somehow that feeling wasn't present as he held her in a close embrace, even as she felt his blades pierce painfully into her back. Her body arched slightly against the pain but there was no further protest, she didn't have the energy. With her body quickly fading she slumped forward against him, her mind racing trying to think of something to say. The only thing she wanted to think about was how nice it felt to be in his arms and how warm he felt to the touch. This wasn't such a bad way to go was it?
But why had they been fighting one another? Why had anyone been fighting at all? The notion of kings and crowns, the voice and the one true king, it all seemed so trivial now that everything was at an end. She tried to put more clarity into her life, thinking about her role in the kingdom but her memories like her body were fading away and what managed to surface felt lacking. Had her life really meant so little here? Had this all been a waste? Maybe this was the feeling of regret. The things she hadn't done or the places she hadn't seen. She couldn't say she wanted anything like that specifically but it was possible that was causing this hollow feeling. Or maybe it was just regret that she had not met Shun sooner. That they couldn't have been allies instead of enemies. Whatever her regret she knew it wasn't meeting him. That she would certainly cherish.
Her vision had already faded to black, his body was the only thing keeping her upright. She could still feel him there and she wanted to cling to this moment a little longer. His whispered words touched her ears and they pivoted forward straining to listen barely able to make out what he was saying. Was her mind that far gone or was he no longer speaking English? There was something about the way he uttered it though, it held a feeling, a feeling and level of emotion far deeper than they had yet shared. She could hear the passion, love and sorrow in his tone and she wanted with all her might to tell him it was okay. If she could manage the strength to speak, maybe she could at least give a little reassurance.
She took in a breath, as painful as it was, her head resting listlessly against his shoulder. “Red really is a pretty color.” Her eyes were just blindly staring since her vision had already faded and she wanted to say more but for the moment that was all she could manage. She coughed and sputtered, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. The shifter’s lungs had already begun to fill with blood.
A new fear hit her as she found she couldn’t breathe, her body struggling to get her next breath causing more blood to run from her mouth and down her chin. Her hands clutched weakly at Shun’s leather armor trying to brave through the end knowing it was coming as the sounds of battle grew far and distant. Before long there was nothing but silence and Mitsu drew in one last painful breath, knowing that what she was about to say would be the last. “In another life…” Her body began to shake, she felt so cold. Letting herself rest for just a moment seemed like such a good idea but there was one more thing. Just one more thing she had to say. “Promise…” She would not forget Shun’s promise though she could not hear him if he decided to repeat it. If he did she hoped he meant it. In another life they would meet again. Maybe that life would be happier, devoid of this battle and game of crowns. She wished that things had been different but perhaps this was just a second chance so they could be.
As the last of her life slipped away her body went limp against the knight of the red kingdom. Even through the battle, having already experienced death Mitsu’s expression seemed peaceful. Those last few moments she had clung to her one and only hope. In another lifetime they would be together. Sorry Commander Wilson, she didn't want to be in the white kingdom any longer. Red had stolen her heart away.
Inu-Mitsu
Werewolf
Offline
Sosiqui
Enduring Muse
Offline
Posted: Sat Jan 26, 2013 9:34 am
Death was nothing like what it had imagined.
Malodore had seen countless deaths - some caused by it, some in spite of its work. It had cataloged as many of the innumerable ways to die as it possibly could. Suffocation. Drowning. Blunt trauma. Failure of any one of a dozen organs, some mercifully swift, others agonizingly slow. Blood loss. Spinal injury. Decapitation. Brain death. Starvation. Dehydration.
The body was such a delicate thing, really.
It felt the strange, beautiful woman clinging to it as the Miasma shredded them both; the pain was what it had imagined, an exquisite crescendo that tore past pleasure entirely and ate the world. It was fully expecting a sweet oblivion, for the last thing it would ever experience, remember, or exist for to be that burst of blinding, final pain.
It was not.
Awareness filtered back, though it was an empty, untethered thing; it detected a sense of body around it, but it was subtly wrong, as if it had been abruptly incarnated into something made of putty or clay. The woman was gone, of course. It made a soft, startled noise as vision returned with a flare of white and black. Twin pillars stood before it.
It had never been a light kind of creature. It reached for the darkness eagerly, ready to learn whatever this strange appearance had to teach. Or, at least, it thought it was... until the teacher began to speak.
Nonsense.
It scoffed, then looked down and saw... red, a glory of red, a tall figure exactly matching it in height, though that was where all similarity ended. Red, and bizarrely avian, as unhuman as the woman it had killed, with long skeletal wings stretching away on either side. The creature raised one arm, and turned as if speaking to someone, and the doctor found itself puppeting the movements without thinking. Its gaze darkened, and it tried to pull its limbs out of the formation dictated by the reflection, to no avail.
"I refute this," it hissed at the darkness, through gritted teeth. "This is a lie. You are lying to me-" It felt the pull of oblivion but resisted with all the strength it had left to it. It would not have this be the last thing it ever knew. This... this falsehood, this foulness...
It was, in the end, the woman who convinced it. The woman who had acted as if she knew it, who had responded so readily. Her emotions could not have been faked; it had tasted them, truly. She had known it, but not known it. She had known... a Malodore.
In another life.
Something furious within it was still shrieking lies, lies, but the cold knot at the pit of its stomach knew: truth, truth. The vivid red below it was real. It was not. It had never been. It was a doctor, a scientist; it knew truth when it was staring it in the face.
But it would still not go gently.
"I killed her, you know," it hissed at the 'reflection' below. "You'll never have her back, bastardo." A surge of cruel pride awoke in it at that, and it strode forward, tearing itself free of the 'reflection'. More than cruelty would awaken now. It would return- and it knew the truth, now.
It had nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
((Exiting!))
Posted: Sat Jan 26, 2013 11:29 am
((Entering from battle))
That was all it took. One powerful blast and he had been ripped from the battle. Ripped from his life. Jericho had to wonder if it was truly all worth it. Their kingdom had fallen. At first he felt like he would do anything to see it rise back up to glory. To something even more. He spent his life living for his kingdom. But for what? To have it destroyed in a matter of minutes?
Did he even make a difference with the things he had done? He was Fortune, was he not? He should be able to have fate on his side. At least to be able to cause some sort of change. But no. It was all starting to feel rather... meaningless.
Perhaps he was about as worthless as the magical trinkets and oddities that he found himself enjoying to collect and pawn. They were curious things, and offered riddles and the like. But they had no real value to them. They weren't really worth a whole lot due to their limited use.
Kings. Crowns. What did it all truly mean? He began to wonder if these two were just superficial.
And yet.
He spent his entire life for them. And died for them.
The dragon now couldn't help but feel that things had been a little shallow on his end.
And it was then that he saw the pillars. Strange. He shouldn't be seeing anything at all right about now. Looking between the two pillars, he slowly approached the black one. After all, he was still a little more drawn to that particular color. What he didn't expect was for it to begin speaking to him. Jericho was confused with what he had to say, what he was trying to get at, but he soon looked down to his shadow.
There was an empty mirror there, though he soon saw what his reflection was. There. A dragon. Much like himself, but not cloaked in shadows. It could have very well been him if it weren't for that case. He stared hard, trying to figure out what this meant. He didn't understand. And it was then that the pillar spoke, to explain things further.
He was a shadow.
Not in the sense that he was for his kingdom. But a literal shadow. Nothing more. He wasn't supposed to exist. He didn't really exist. This was... He didn't know how to feel about this. So everything he did truly did not matter in the very end anyway... Though, the dragon lifted his head as the pillar began to speak. Nodding, he slowly stepped closer to it, listening carefully to what it had to say.
A final goodbye..
One last trip to the world. Free from the bounds of his kingdom.
It was strange, being dead. She always pictured if she was going to die, it would be as she was being held by someone she loved. Someone who hold her and just tell her everything would be okay. Being blasted away though, by a man she never knew, was probably the worse way to go in Rosy's eyes at the moment.
She was nothing, just another piece floating and waiting. For what though? She honestly had nothing in the end.
Her home, it was gone, and by now she was pretty sure most of her people were gone. So much red, it fit now that she thought about it. Blood, death, in the end did this war and this True King really matter?
And yet, she was willing to die under the Banners of Red. Just so she could be the one True King.
"What was I doing....?" right now, all she wanted was sleep. Sleeping and never waking up, so her dreams were never taken over by sadness and pain. She would be happy, she finally have what she wanted. A life, and the one she loved, what more could a person ask? She would have no worries, and it would be perfect.
As she floats there, she turns her head as she looks around. Bleak blackness all around her, and yet....
She look towards the two pillars, one black, one white. One dark, one light. Her eyes look between them before she finally stood before the white pillar. With a careful hand, she reach out to brush her fingers over it.
As it started speaking to her, she couldn't help but frown. This story again, she was getting rather sick of this story. She didn't care anymore, about this true king.
It was the last part, that made her stop, looking confused toward the pillar. What did her shadow have to do with all of this? She almost refused to look down, yet she felt compelled to do as ask, dark eyes turning downwards.
At first, it was nothing but a mirror, black and hallowed. She didn't get it, what was this pillar trying to explain to her. Ready to pull her eyes away, it was that moment something started swirling, making her blink a few times as she tries to focus on it. She didn't realize it, how close she was, nearly nose to nose until she was hit with bright color causing her to stand straight up.
The person before her, seem so familiar and yet...she didn't want to believe it. Long curl black as night, red eyes full of mischief. Pale green skin, why did it have to be pale green? And was her skin peeling? Why was her skin peeling away from her? She felt herself recoil from this girl.
Laughing, full of pranks. This couldn't be her, this wasn't her. Sure she was smiles and a gentle heart. But she was very serious, not someone who wanted to just play all day, and not do anything else.
As the pillars told her that this was indeed herself, that she wasn't real. It about broke her. No, she didn't want to be this person. This person was a child, who just didn't care about anything. Shaking her head, she brought her fingers to her temples, trying to block everything out. She just wanted to sleep, why was this pillar tormenting her, showing her someone that couldn't be her.
Even if she fought against it, she somehow knew this was right.The girl before her, the smiles and tricks. The laziness, the I don't want to do anything attitude. It was her, and that was what hurt more then anything. Being told, what she was now, was a fake. Everything and everyone she knew was fake.
Spinar....
The Red Kingdom.....
Even the man who killed her....
All fake....
She was nothing but a shadow. A worthless shadow....
Wrapping her arms around herself, she was welcoming the feeling of fading. As the pillar told her to step closer, she did it without thought, hoping it would just end the pain.
Only she was told, she got to say goodbye one last time? What was the point though? She didn't want to do any of this again. It hurt too much, to see them all again. They were all fake, everything was fake....
And yet, if she had the chance....
She knew what she wanted to do, had to do.
She would say goodbye, after she did one thing that needed to be done.
