Welcome to Gaia! ::

The only thing keeping them from wandering further into the fog was the thick wall of thorns separating them from the further unknown--or keeping them trapped here. They looked similar to the ones covering the infected, the ones that had appeared in the abandoned parts of the city and slowly crept their way closer and closer to what remained of civilization. It was not so much that Cerise was curious about them, foreboding as they looked all on their own, as it was that she wanted out.

The vines seemed alive, Cerise noticed upon closer inspection, subtly moving together to form a tighter, more impenetrable barrier, a nest full of snakes forming a knot. It was almost hypnotic, the way they twisted and shifted against each other. They seemed to glow with a light all their own, not brightly, but still enough to stand out in the gloom.

Cerise watched, transfixed, as small flowers began to emerge from the small spaces between the thorns. They were as beautiful as they were improbable, and almost without thinking, she reached out to touch one--

There are no vines here, no glowing little flowers, but instead a wall of people bearing weapons of all shapes and sizes in lieu of thorns. She pushes against them, yelling to be overheard over the sounds of a larger battle, but no one is listening. They just come at her, over and over again, refusing to see reason or sense. They are mean and bloodthirsty and that means that it's okay for her to retaliate in kind.

She repays their attacks with swipes and slashes of her own, and while their strikes hurt, she stays standing--and they do not, falling to her righteous fury. They will not listen to her voice of reason, and so she will speak to them in the language of violence that they seem to know so well.

Cerise gasped and stumbled away from the vines, nearly falling. She flexed her fingers, remembering the feeling of flesh tearing beneath them, and was almost surprised to see them clean and devoid of the blood they had been covered in just a moment ago. She watched as the pretty little flowers abruptly withered and died, the rotting petals falling to the ground, an apt metaphor for her quickly dwindling sanity.