Strangely, she had been less afraid when she had been running then now. She had forgotten why she had run. She had forgotten where she had been when she had woken up, only that she had woken up, briefly, and was back.
She was nothing. She had forgotten. Her existance was all she had, and it wasn't much of one. It was her deepest fear, but almost inverted. She feared life without thought, or just having no thought, no consciousness. but this was differnet and, somehow, worse. This was consciousness without life.
She had nothing but that thought and before it slipped through the dull cracks of her metaphorical fingers, she caught it and mused over it because that was all she had. Perhaps thought without life and life without thought were two sides of the same Fear or pumpkinseed. Or two cards. Like those right there.
The cards before her called her to remember. And she did, bit by bit. She was Acerium. She was Sap. She was a tree who had become more than a tree, but she was still just a ghoul and just a ghoul was all she was, and all she hoped to be.
She remembered happy moments and sad moments. And she remembered her nightmare.
She writhed, or tried to, as flames danced over her, consuming her, devouring her with tongues and teeth of white hot pain, leaving agony and emptiness in her wake. They coursed across her bark, her roots, her leaves, her very core, eating and eating and eating. She couldn't writhe, she couldn't scream, she was just a tree in a forest, and she was dying to the horrible, deadly tongues of light...
Yes, this was the nightmare. The flames would consume her and deny her life and existance, and would carry her to a terrifying oblivion from which she would never return.
Except, something was different. The light became bright - she could see, truly see. She opened her eyes - her EYES - and blinked as the pain became something different, something that made her impatient, itchy. She felt as though it was not her being consumed, but a shell, a block, something holding her back. She - sap - the real her - pushed against it, whatever it was, and felt it give with a rain of embers and charcoal. She stepped out, over the blazing corpse of the tree she had been, then stepped again on new-formed feet. She walked away, feeling calmer than she had ever felt, and didn't look back.
She was free.
3 OF SPADES
My character's username: Maple_Syrup My character's level: 28 Character's HP: 40 Character's Job Class: Cheshire Cat Wraith Current party: NA Current Guild: NA Location: Where applicable, if you are in another zone. Small IC description of character: Maple Syrup is a puppet woman with very woody, brown skin and orange fall leaves everywhere, especially her hair, which appears to just stay in that hairstyle and be completely made of twigs and leaves.
Her eyes and mouth have a yellowish glow to them, but seem very friendly, like a jack-o-lantern.
She wears the Cheshire cat cloak, semithere tail, and the semithere scarf in the traditional blue-theme, but has foregone the ears for an aura of shadowy magic that seems to cling to her and shift. She also has glowing, long, cyan claws - her weapon as a Cat. Both the claws and the aura are not visible/barely visible out of battle, but become apparent during battle - the claws are very long and sharp, and the aura becomes a miasmic and disturbing cloud... are those eyes? No, of course not.
Aside from being cool and magical, this has no effect on her stats. Its just cool.
Nii was turning bed. The sheets wrapped around her like, making it hard to move. Hunted by creatures, that clearly didn't want to do her any good. Her instincts told her to shape shift into her cat form to make a quick escape, but for some reason could she not do it. The creatures were catching up. She could hear them getting closer and closer. Her panic increased tenfold while she felt her options of escaping growing smaller. Suddenly everything went quiet. Feeling slightly relieved, she stopped to catch her breath. Suddenly she felt something cold wrap around her tail and when she turned around everything want black.
Nii woke up startled and out of breath. Who were the creatures trying to get catch her. It felt familiar and yet not. She felt herself drifting of again and she desperately tried to remember why the nightmare felt familiar. She fell asleep.
She was being hunted or maybe hunted wasn’t the correct word. Chased. Yes, that word fit better. She wasn’t scared because she knew her chasers and they meant her no harm. It was all a game. She was a runner and it was the runners job to not get caught by the chasers before reaching a designated place.
She wanted to shape shift into her cat form, not only would it make her faster but harder to catch as well. Unfortunately was it against the rules, they had agreed on in the beginning. Any rule breaking would result in direct loss and Nii wasn’t going to lose that easy. She could hear them getting closer and closer. Her pulse was rising. She didn’t want to lose.
Suddenly a large noise was heard in the background, another runner most likely. The chasers stopped to regroup. This gave Nii enough time to find a place to hide and catch her breath.
While focusing on staying silent she suddenly felt something wrap around her tail and when she turned around with a big shriek she was met with the face of another runner.
“Idiot, they’ll hear us”
“I’m not the idiot you are. Why did you sneak up on me like that?”
Before the other runner could respond they were met with the words:
“Caught you…both”
And so the game ended with a loss, but it was fun and that was all that mattered.
MY STATS
My character's username: Shadow My character's level: 51 Character's HP: 40/40 Character's Job Class: Cheshire Cat Wraith Current party: - Current Guild: Raiders of the Lost Ark Location: Queens Castle Small IC description of character: Cat like female with cat ears, tail and eyes. She has black hair in a messy bun and is dressed in a black and blue dress complete with a scarf. Character journal:here
There was a figure in front of her, and Mimsy might have been able to see it if she would just uncover her eyes.
But she wouldn't. Her hands were pressed against her face with such determination, with every ounce of refusal to believe what she did not want to.
There was a figure, and it was just familiar enough, and Mimsy couldn't stand being so wrong.
She turned to run, her thoughts a cacophony of nono no nonono, and all that she could do on this instinctual autopilot was to attempt to escape through one of the doors.
It was locked. And the next. They all were. Or enough of them that this was no longer a viable plan for escape, and Mimsy knew that she had nothing left but to face the fact that her greatest dream had become her worst nightmare.
It looked at her with too many eyes, observing her from every angle, coaxing her out of the comfort of denial.
There were scissors in front of her, and she wished very bitterly that they did not feel like home.
-♥-
--had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself--
Her eyes were open and there was something in her hands.
--falling down--
It was warm, cooling rapidly around her fingertips. It was not moving. It was a human heart. It belonged to the body next to her. It would fit in the hole in his chest if she tried to return it. It was only these things, because they were facts and not feelings, of which she had none.
(Also factual. Now she knew.)
Now she knew she had none, and now she knew she had nothing, and now she knew she had no one to love her again.
--down--
Her eyes were open and encased in stone.
He would take her home, like the whispers said. He would love someone who looked like her and wore her name. He wouldn't know that she was ruining her and her name and doing all of this wrong.
Nobody would. Just her. She could watch and never speak, and this was worse than any hell she'd ever been damned to.
--down--
Her eyes were open and focused only on a man who did not know her name.
They were so proud of her once, back at her home in the treetops, where she held more promise than anyone they had ever raised. They said she could fly to the stars if she wanted to, and she knew that wasn't possible, but they way they said it made her believe it. They didn't matter now. They spoke in words incomparable to the sound of his songs.
And his songs were so beautiful.
She (did not want to be here, not here, anywhere but here, please not)--
--down--
Her eyes were open and the sun was bright in the desert.
This was where she would die again. This was where she would experience her first closed timelike curve. This was where she would know that nobody listened to her. This was where she would meet Death.
He was clever to know how to give her hope, and wise to take it away.
--down--
Her eyes were open and she stared at a tea party.
Even though she was certain that she had just been eaten by a painting. Even when the hostess spoke to her in words that drenched her in dread. Even after she was presented with the crown she always deserved.
--down--
Her eyes were open only for the Goddess.
But he really looked just so impressive. But she had to work hard to please the Goddess, to be what she wanted. But it felt so familiar when she was near h--
--down--
Her eyes were open onto a new millennium.
A new promise. A new hope. A new achievement. A new feeling.
(We could stay. We could live here, where it all was the way it was supposed to be. Please, I think that this could work for)--
--down--
Her eyes were open and she did not recognize this place.
Or didn't w--
--down--
Her eyes were open--
--down, down down.
-♥-
[dreaaam]
OOC
My character's username: Mimsy My character's level: 64 Character's HP: 40 Current party: Current Guild: Location: Small IC description of character: Mimsy is tall, thin, and colorlessly pale, with wide teal eyes that appear incredibly manic behind her thick glasses in her haste to see everything, bright red and indigo streaks in the bangs of her black hair, and one long, thick braid, ending just before her knees. She has Cheshire ears, a fluffy Cheshire tail, and a pair of blue demon wings. Her appearance is accented with images of galaxies in blues and purples.
They tore her mask off, leaving her jaw slack and her mouth wide and viewable.
They all knew how ugly she was.
Her hands flew up to her mouth, clamping down and attempting to hide the long opening that ran across from her lips to below her ear, but it was with little success. It was too late. Everyone knew now. They all knew she was ugly and hideous and disfigured beyond repair.
They were laughing, they were all laughing.
The laughter was never ending, and her tears were never stopping...
She felt a hand on her shoulder. Why was someone touching her? She just wanted to be left alone, in peace, where no one would mock her or terrorize her or--
"Why are you crying?"
"Huh?"
Her voice was weak and cracking, as she turned over her shoulder, surprised to see a friendly face looking back down at her. Unlike her, they did not have her disfiguration, so they probably didn't understand. The kuchisake-onna turned her attention back towards the ground, attempting to put her face back into her hands, but then she heard it again.
"Why are you crying?"
It was hard for her to reply, but she managed, "Because I'm hideous--"
"No, stop that."
The laughter sounded like it was fading, growing more and more distant and falling well within the background. The voice of the boil next to her sounded louder than anything she had ever heard, ringing right into her heart. "You don't need to be afraid. You're not hideous. You're beautiful."
"R-really?"
"Why are you hiding yourself? There's nothing to be afraid of," came another voice, bolstering her up too. Serafina's head lifted from the crouch it was at, her body straightening up. The tear streaks on her face were quickly drying as she looked towards the increased amount of friendly faces. No one was mocking her. No one was disgusted by her.
They were right.
There was no reason to hide.
OOC
My character's username: KnottedLips My character's level: 32 Character's HP: 40 Current party: n/a Current Guild: n/a Location: Small IC description of character:
KnottedLips is of average height, with blue eyes, dark hair, and a brilliant smile (unlike one the out-dream self has ever had). She wears the clothes of the Cheshire Cat Wraith but in slightly different colors, the scarf and tail instead of purple shades.
The estate was darker than usual, the candle lit lamps that lined the walk way up to the mansion were out. As Uru'baen walked further up the path, he took notice that the grass had become overgrown and unkept, their usual neatness and design was lost to it now, ignored by those who tended it. The bushes have become mishapened, unattended like the rest of the estate. The servants that once moved around the grounds in their hurried pace were nowhere to be seen, he hadn't even spotted a single heartbeat among the bleak place. Hurried, he moved to the mansion, pushing open the large doors to the home. Silent. Dark. Empty.
"Brenna?" he called out, the first name that came to his mind was his sister's. No answer came, silence was the only response. The demon moved up the stairs that centered the building onto the upper floors, running down dark hallways that were once light by candle light. He allowed his mind to pilot him through the darkness, working from memory, to the place he recalled to be his younger sister's room. Pushing the doors open, the quarters were empty, neat, but no one inside. Taking down the hall, he went to his own room, at least, where it used to be. The door was locked. With a growl, he punched through the wooden door to only have the fist connect to the wall behind it. The room was gone. Confusion set in as he let his body take him to his next destination.
As he passed a door, he noticed the faint glow of light through the edges of the wood frame, the ground spilling it's contents onto the rug. Uru pushed open the door to the study. The smell of blood assaulted him as soon as the doors were opened. Bodies of servants sprawled about the study and the upper floors. Books strewn everywhere, the pages ripped and tainted by stains of the fallen. Before the flickering fire place, a large chair sat before it and a large body beside it, sitting, leaning against it. As he approached closer, he recognized it as his uncle, but he did not move in response to Uru's movements.The person in the chair he could only imagine to be his mother even if he could not see her.
"Where's Brenna?" He questioned, his voice deep, rumbling with concern and anger, circling around the chair.
"Oh, she was so beautiful. She was so powerful. She moved with such grace." a frail voice croaked. His eyes wide as he came closer, the light from the fire flickering on the bloodied face of his uncle. His mother caressed her daughter's head in her bloodied hands, her lifeless body been her legs. "She would have been a wonderful alpha. She was such a good girl."
"What-what have you done!?" he roared, falling to his hands and knees as he reached for his sister's cheek. Even then, her eyes closed, her face was soft and innocent, even marred with crimson, she was beautiful. The last string that kept him here. Gone.
"It was what you've always wanted; the downfall of our family. Your family!" his mother's face distorted into such a grotesque visage, pushing her daughter onto her son as she rose to a frightening height. "IT IS YOUR FAULT, YOU HORRID CHILD! WE COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL! YOU UNGRATEFUL WHELP!" She roared with outstretched claws.
"YOU UNGRATEFUL CHILD!" She roared as tears streamed down her face, creating blackened rivers over her porcelain cheeks. Her angered roars became heart wrenching sobs. "Why did you do it, child? Why, Brenna? Why?" Her voice pleading as she fell to her knees, her hands opened and slack against the blood stained floor.
Uru looked down as his own, red to the elbow, clothes drenched and heavy. Eyes wide, looking up to his mother who was spared from the crimson guilt. Panic raced through his body as he tried to wipe them clean only to have them produce more blood wherever they touched. With each glance to the bodies that littered the study, he could hear their pleading cries to spare them, begging to stop it all, that this wasn't him. Hesitantly, he looked down at his sister, her eyes half lidded, staring off into the distance, no focus to them. The only one left in his family that he could have protected, the only one left that he cared for. Her blood was on his hands and all he could hear of her now, in her sweet, saccharine voice was; "Please don't kill me, big brother."
"Brenna?" His voice called out as he roamed the halls of the manor, the staff were nowhere to be seen, which wasn't entirely unusual this time of day. The staff had awoken for breakfast preparations and clean up, and then they were off to their duties outside or back to nap until they were to prepare for lunch. Since the shift, the house has became quiet but it was much warmer. The family was up and about with their own tasks, so he was content with how things were going. Uru moved up the arched stairs to the second floor and down the west wing, certain that he knew where his sister was. He bounded down the hall with a bounce in his step as he swung the door open to her room with a loud 'ah hah!' but she wasn't there. He pouted briefly as he scanned the room before retreating back to the hall, noting that her bed wasn't made. He contemplated a second before the sound of music filled the house; piano chords. A smile crept onto his lips as he made his way to the study. "There you are."
Brenna, the young lady of the house was dancing with a young servant he had learned was named Raph, an infatuated boy. The pair danced magically around the room to the music of the piano played by a man similar to himself. He smiled as he stood beside him. "Your daughter is a graceful dancer."
"Graceful dancer? She is the best there is, Alpha Uru." The man responded as his hands flew across the keys in a flourish of strikes, the music was slow and hauntingly calm.
"Father, you needn't call me that. I may be the alpha, but you're my father. That counts for something."
"What it counts for is that I am home with you and your sister again without that she-wolf to ruin our lives," The man deadpanned, continuing to play the keys. This was how he had wanted it; how he wished it to be always from the beginning. His sister's smiling face with her puppy love crush, his father was home again, the house was purged of the tainted influence of his mother, and he was at the head of the house, steering it toward the change that it desperately need.
"I am just glad you're home, dad." He added before cutting in, requesting his sister's hand for a dance.
OOC
My character's username: Epithet My character's level: 59 + .75xp Character's HP: 40 Special Card: 1 of Diamond Profession: Cheshire Cat Wraith Current Guild:Secret Service - The Game Ender Small IC description of character: 5'5", lean, thin build guy, very timid, but seems to hide a secret Character journal:link
Posted: Sat Mar 29, 2014 5:28 pm
The images floated above and around them like a film reel, filling the Delusion World. Making them easier targets. She laughed as all they could do was lay defeated on the ground, heaving and grabbing at the dirt on the ground to help them get back up. It shifted from three to four and then back to three of them. Their armor cracked and broken in all the right places, to show their struggle. To add to the dramatics when they would get back up again, win the day. But he couldn't find the strength. None of them could.
And so she just laughed, wickedly, slowly raising the barrel of her MMZ-00 Moya Moya Z-Cune because she knew she had the time and fired. Pot shots, one after the other. Each hitting their target. Dekaranger, Flashman, Gorenger, Bio-Man, Zyuranger, Gokaiger.... Each image riddled with bullets, dissolving into nothing as their destruction ricocheted into the real world and vanished from existence.
He could feel it too. Was he screaming? The knowledge popping like bubbles in his mind, leaving him as she destroyed each official series. His power faded. He switched from red to green, from Nobuo's role to his own and back again. He felt helpless. Why weren't they getting their vigor back? This happened all the time, the heroes would lay defeated but they would rise again, finding that last ounce of power within them to win the day.
But he couldn't feel it, just the drain. And then a swift kick to his head. He rolled once and then settled on his side, his bare cheek against the dirt. There was a shadow over him, smirking. A glint reflected off her glasses as she looked down on him, pressing a boot to his face.
"What does this make you now, Milo Hale?" Malseena purred as her stiletto heel dug deeper into his temple.
It was all happening the same way again, like watching a repeat on one of those boring days with nothing to do. And at first it started out the same, the team was in trouble, looking defeated on the ground. Broken and battered, tears in their uniforms and dirt and grime everywhere with the enemy looking down at them with a laugh. And all around them, images of past Super Sentai teams, the official ones, floating like open targets just waiting to be taken down. Child's play.
She laughed as she always did, raising the barrels of her MMZ-00 Moya Moya Z-Cune and lazily aimed (because no matter where she fired, it would be a direct hit) and made ready to fire. But this was where things went differently, this was where things changed. And it might have taken the umpteenth play through for it to change. Because she pulled that trigger, the shot had fired even as aimlessly as it did but when the energy bolt reached its destination it simply hit and nothing more.
"W-what?!" Malseena gasped dramatically, her stance agitated and angry as she fired another shot and nothing.
"Hahaha hahaha." They all heard, the team turning in unison to the one beside them, laying on the ground and laughing. "I knew it wouldn't work, our delusions are too strong!" Red quipped - so there were four of them, Red, Yellow, Blue and Green. "The power of our belief and nerdiness cannot be stopped!"
With a great dramatic struggle, with the wind and the smoke from a sudden fire blowing about him, AkibaRed stood and braced himself in a fighting stance. "The official Super Sentai teams can never be destroyed!"
"Come on guys!" He commanded and they too followed suit, staggering their way up and almost falling back down from the injuries they had achieved. But they got to their feet, each one in their place in line. They were battered and broke but they would keep on going.
Malseena clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes, "you've got to be kidding me..."
And then an epic battle broke out between them. So intense that simply writing it out would never give it justice. Punches flew, kicks landed, shots were fired. These guys showed up.
There were explosions everywhere, in every color. And Malseena was beaten back, stumbling backwards with her usual wounds. She was not just some monster of the week who would be so easily defeated, so she simply retreated calling out that she would be back.
The dust settled, leaving the four warriors.
"What do you think would have happened if she actually hit, nya?" Yellow asked, tilting her head like always.
"The show would have been gone." Blue added in, rubbing at the ear of her helmet.
"What would we be without it?" Green sighed sadly, toeing the ground.
Red stepped forward, wiping his thumb against the nose of his helmet. "Hopefully we will never have to find out," he replied and then walked up to Green and placed a hand on his shoulder, "it's alright for a show to define a lot of us. It shapes us to who we are. We are nerds, its okay," He looked so heroic.
"Besides, I think we would just find some other series to nerd over."
OOC
My character's username: GreenRanger My character's level: 43 Character's HP: 40 Current party: -- Current Guild: Queen's Rangers Location: -- Small IC description of character: A tall brown haired humanoid male sportin' the green set of Gryphon attire, and most likely doing stupid poses. While smiling. And humming to himself.
The darkness was almost suffocating, and she would have preferred silence to the never ending sound of water. At least in silence she would have been able to tell if she were not alone.
But she was alone. Alone in the dark, damp, cold corridor. “Jake?” She couldn’t even force out more than a whisper. “Stormy? Nevada? Tori?” She was afraid to do more than whisper. If she broke the silence something bad would happen. That’s how it always went.
She hated this dream.
But she didn’t want to be alone. “Jake?” He’d been there before, right? Maybe? Sherry couldn’t remember. What was this mission? Why couldn’t she remember? Where was everyone else? Where was she?
”Bones.”
Sherry froze. A chill crawled down her back and even went so far as to prickle down her arms. She turned and saw it. Glowing red eyes highlighted it’s hollowed skull face, and a matching red glow emanated from its chest. Sherry could see ribs and flesh, and she thought she could hear it’s flesh moving, sliding, and falling off. She could hear the skittering of the insects that made the wretched body home. And she could smell it. Rotting, dead flesh. ”Bones,”] It said again.
“No.” She wanted to back away, to run. The wall, cold and damp, stopped her. The skeleton stared her down, came closer. It was too dark to see its hands until they were on her, pushing her against the wall. Sherry was too afraid to speak. No running, all alone. It was cold and dark and—
”Hunter bones are the best bones.” The pain flared up in her side, sharp and strong, blinding. Before her, the skeleton held a rib, too-bright white glaring in the dark, bright blood dotting the it’s broken edges. Too sharp, too broken, to perfect. And all Sherry’s.”The best bones.” The skeleton seemed to smile at its newest acquisition. One dark, skeletal hand closed over her nice, pretty rib, and the skeleton turned and walked away, taking what was Sherry’s with it.
“No,” she said, her knees buckling as the red glow faded and the skeleton left her alone. “Give it back.” The hole in her side hurt. Her hands hurt. When had that happened? She tried to rub at her hands, and found holes. When? Why? And the blood. All over her hands, and gushing from her side. She should stop that.
She knew how it would end. Armagnac was gone, Jake was gone, her friends were gone. No one to help her. She’d bleed out on the cold, dark floor all alone and it wouldn’t even matter. It would be slow and terrifying and it made her want to cry.
“No,” she said, tears forming. She didn’t want that. She wasn’t ready for that. “No.” She reached out, reached for anything, and her hand found bone. Skeleton. “Give it back,” she repeated. The bone was hers. The dream was hers.
The skeleton grinned (it could do that in dreams), and bugs crawled onto her hand. Her hand that held a pretty little broken rib, her rib. Which Sherry stabbed into the monster before her. A shard of red glinted, then flared, and turned white- becoming crystal. Crystal which grew and devoured and glowed. The skeleton was turned to crystal, and as Sherry pulled her bone away, out of the forming statue, and the crystal shattered. It was like diamonds falling to the floor, glittering and bright.
The pieces glowed, and she was no longer in the dark. Where she’d held a rib in her hand, she now held Armagnac. There wasn't even any blood. It made no sense, but things seldom did in dreams.
Sherry stumbled, and Jake caught her. He smiled. “Good work. I knew you could do it.” He was warm when he pulled her close for a hug. “Let’s get back. We promised to meet the others for dinner, and we have a mission report to fill out.”
MY STATS
My character's username: Waffleberry My character's level: 42 Character's HP: 40/40 Character's Job Class: White Rabbit Herald Current party: -- Current Guild: Vicious Streak Location: ??? Small IC description of character: White rabbit with blonde hair~ red dress with white accessories. Super cute and happy. Character journal:Battle Log
Posted: Sat Mar 29, 2014 5:42 pm
She was slightly startled by the sudden slam; slowly she glanced around the dim room. As she turned she noticed a figure standing where the door had closed and then she quickly looked down because it moved closer. Hastily she turned her back to it her heart thudding. She trembled slightly and slowly looked down, tendrils of shadows seemed to slide closer. Tap, tap, tap, she knew what she had to do, she ran as fast as she could.
The hallway went on and on the footsteps followed, she reached doors and hastily yanked at the knobs only to find them locked. She continued down, down, following the corridor until she dared slow and look back. It was gone…
Slowly she turned back around and drew a breath to scream at the eyes but before the scream could come – SNIP
~
She gasped as she startled awake and sat in her luxurious bed for a moment trying to understand where she was and what was happening. She looked around and took a deep breath, she felt so stiff and strange. A distant ringing sounded in her ears and she blinked at the dim light.
What was that? She’d dreamed…dreamed of…of Wonderland? A game? Ha, that’s what she got for chatting about silly computer games with Rosc and Lumi. She wasn’t a gamer; the whole thing was really quite silly. Slowly Sin moved to swing her legs out of bed only to realize…she couldn’t. It felt as though her body was held in place, she tried again and started to panic, what was wrong with her?! She tried to writhe and twist the panic rose and then started to ebb. Her eyed drifted, no she couldn’t let them drift! She struggled to keep her eyes open but she couldn’t, she blinked.
~
She was in the corridor, her shoulder felt cold, the voice whispered that she belonged. No!
~
Sin opened her eyes and clawed at the beautiful silk sheets of her bed, her breathing came in swift frightened gasps. She felt herself being pulled and she couldn’t do anything about it. Darkness came in, sudden, swift, leaving her in emptiness without the eyes, without strings, nothingness. She sank into the cold abyss until with a soft thunk she landed, but what differentiated the bottom from the top she couldn’t say. She stood uncertainly and wandered around in slow circles…
Like a circle in a spiral…keys that jangle in your pocket like the words within my head…like the circles that I find in the window of my mind…
She wandered aimlessly slowly the thoughts drifted, no end, no beginning, no end, no beginning, no end…
She hit a sudden block and looked up unrecognizing and lifeless, slowly her hand lifted as if of it’s own accord to the block. A voice, the card, it reached out to her as she reached out to it.
Remember…
It was her voice…and her memories; they came to her whipping past and unfurling as quickly as a flower blooming on a spring day. At the center the most vivid memory was the nightmare, the nightmare that had ushered her into Wonderland. Her fingers tight on the card in her hand she watched as the Nightmare replayed.
~
She looked down, the eye on her bracelet blinked; she looked past it from where she stood on a balcony. Entering the intricate doors were hooded figures, white coats swirled out behind them and her grip on the balcony railing tightened. She couldn’t move an inch for the fear that coursed through her. She wore a beautiful starched ebony collar that obstructed her vision left and right, her corset was tied tight almost too tight. Her skirts were full and heavily beaded with onyx, but they were heavy, too heavy for her to flee. Her feet and legs were encased in sturdy leather beautifully embossed and gleaming black with heels that made her escape impossible. She was beautiful, beautifully trapped.
The hunters started to move in knocking over statues that had stood proudly in the Err Mansion for centuries. A scythe flashed across priceless paintings destroying them in the blink of an eye as she stood still. She wanted to scream, she wanted to run, but she couldn’t even lift her gloved fingers from the rail. Her eyes moved from the hunters to their weapons and her skin seemed to tighten. Each one was a recognizable friend or family member; each weapon was someone she’d failed.
As her eyes tripped over each familiar weapon and the hunter that wielded it she found the strength to twist her torso to face the stairs. The hunter that climbed them held a sword in his hand, not just any sword…Rosc. All at once the horrific memory of her husband being weaponized flashed through her and her vision tunneled on the weapon. It was as handsome a blade as he’d been an incubus, the steel etched feathering on the hilt and ruby drops that cruelly mimicked bloodstains caught her eye. This was it then her punishment for leaving the love of her life to this fate, for being a coward, for always running and saving her own skin, she’d finally know the dissipation she’d left others to suffer.
The hood shadowed the hunters face but soon he was up close the sword held at her throat, she waited for the blade to strike for the bite of pain and the end. Instead she felt her arms grabbed and cuffed, she opened her eyes to see him grin.
“This isn’t the end, it’s just the beginning.”
She heard herself scream then, a scream that was wrenched from her as her body was forced into permanent immobility, as she felt herself being taken to be weaponized.
~
As she watched the nightmare something changed, there were ripples and suddenly it changed, it was slowly morphing into something very different. The fears slowly receded until the nightmare had become a dream.
~
She looked down, the eye on her bracelet blinked; she looked past it from where she stood on the balcony. A party swirled in motion below with her friends all dancing and enjoying a good time. She felt her lips curve in a genuine smile and watched the intricate double doors open. Julian and Lumi walked in and she had to tighten her hold on the railing to keep from running down to greet them. She might have thrown decorum to the wind but the gown she wore was beautiful, a creation she’s happily ordered from one of her old school mates. The fabric flowed against her legs caressing her skin and letting her move freely. She turned on her heel watching as her friends paused and examined the works of art on display.
Lumi paused to examine a painting, it was no masterpiece but it was hung alongside them anyway. She laughed from the staircase and waved at Lumi delighted that she and Julian had made it.
”My daughter isn’t quite as talented as the masters yet, but maybe she’ll become a brilliant artist someday and I’d like to have her early work.”
Her friends laughed and moved towards her as she descended and then paused as she felt another set of eyes on her. She looked back over her shoulder and her smile brightened as her husband appeared at the top of the stairs. She sent him a questioning look and he smiled and nodded assuring her their daughter was safe asleep. For a moment all she could do was drink him in, his pale hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, his blue orbs glowed brightly disguising the lack of eyes, his white feathered wings were folded elegantly against his back a stark contrast to his ink black tux.
His hand covered hers, lifted it, his lips brushed her skin with a kiss and she felt a swift line of pleasure run down her spine. They walked down the stairs together past the collection of Hunter’s coats they had down one hallway, a testament to survival and the elimination of the threat to their happiness. ”It looks like we have our happy ending” She murmured to her husband and joined him on the dance floor as the music shifted to a waltz.
”Oh Sin…This isn’t the end, it’s just the beginning.” He laughed and spun her into a low dip.
She heard herself laugh, a sound of joy that came from the pure joy of feeling safe and loved.
MY STATS
[9 of Clubs] My character's username: Unmentionable_Tamer My character's level: 36 Character's HP: 40 Character's Job Class: Insane Mad Hatter Current party: Current Guild:[Temptation] Location: Small IC description of character: Voluptuous with golden eyes and black hair streaked with pink, this mad hatter is always grinning. Her coat and hat are black with gold trimming, she wears a red top and navy bottoms. Character journal:[X]
He stares at his left arm, the tanned skin at the shoulder slowly graduating to black by his wrist, the wicked claws that tip his fingers. He stretches his hand, revelling in the skin pulling tight, the strain of muscle and tendon, the way one of his knuckles cracks. Where his skin is black doesn't seem quite like skin anymore - if he touched it with his right hand, he thinks it might feel somewhere between skin and leather, or maybe snakeskin. He doesn't, though, because his right hand is gripping his sword.
I am neither a cow nor a serpent, Davey, an irritated thought chides.
He's not sure on that last one - didn't the first fallen angel get referred to as a serpent a lot?
Very flattering, but I'm not Him. Besides, don't you have more immediate problems?
A flash of light on metal gives him warning to raise his sword and block the incoming strike. The two blades clash furiously. At first Davey is driven back, but once he moves to a two-handed grip on his sword the situation turns in his favour. He drives his opponent backwards. A soft twang reaches his ears above the clang of metal on metal. He leaps backwards as a second sounds. A blur across his vision signals the first arrow passing through the air where he just was. The archer knows how Davey moves in battle, so he lifts his new hand off his sword and reaches up. He grabs the second arrow in mid-air. Clenching his fingers, he snaps the arrow between his claws.
Two opponents changes his tactics. He ducks in close to the first attacker, sweeps a leg low, slams the hilt of his sword into a temple when his opponent dodges the first move as Davey knew they would. Then he's sprinting towards the archer, dodging one arrow and letting another graze his shoulder before the edge of his sword is pressed to the archer's neck. The archer doesn't drop the bow, looking mutinous instead.
Davey rolls his eyes. "Give?" he prompts.
"Ugh, fine," comes the grumpy agreement. The archer relaxes his hold on his bow. "I can't believe you beat us two against one. As if you really needed to be more competent than you were already."
Removing his sword from the archer's neck, Davey smiles. "Thanks for agreeing to help. This is still pretty new and I'd rather not have any surprises in battle."
"Yeah, I hear there's a bit more competition in your head for who's in control." The archer looks uncomfortable.
"Not really," Davey says. "It's more like... there's less of a fight between us. We're more in agreement these days."
There was less of a divide between them. Additionally, giving Azrael more freedom than he had stuck in the body of a sword could only improve the fallen angel's personality.
"Oh. Okay, that sounds kinda cool. As long as you don't go turning full monster. You're our new weapon against them, not the other way around, okay?"
He laughs, but the truth is that there's been a pressure building in his shoulder blades for the past few days. He's yet to report it - he should, but he knows what Azrael thinks that is and how long he's dreamed of having functional wings. Davey isn't willing to risk Doctor H or someone else high up deciding that wings are too conspicuous or unnecessary and halting the progress. He wants to give Azrael this one thing, if he can.
"Though, honestly, when you said you were gonna let Doctor H experiment on the two of you? I kinda thought you were nuts. Sounds like the stuff of nightmares, you know?"
Davey smiles and hears an amused huff in his mind that's only half his. "Nah," he says, "this isn't so bad."
OOC
My character's username: Dreadpirate My character's level: 55 Character's HP: 40 Character's Job Class: Royal Gryphon Current party: - Current Guild: Blooming Blades Location: Small IC description of character: Dreadpirate is tall and wears the default Gryphon outfit, with hat pulled over his face a little further than most. His pale hair is in a ponytail over one shoulder, with a large gold hoop earring in the opposite ear - all in keeping with his obvious theme. For a pirate he seems overly serious. Character journal:here
Posted: Sat Mar 29, 2014 6:06 pm
Quote:
They passed by him, laughing and giggling about the newest fads and the little trinkets that whizzed and blinked and flashed. No longer did anyone care for works of sandal wood, bone, and feather. All the books were on their gadgets, too. No parchment, no ink, no leather. No one wanted to garden anymore, opting instead to just buy their vegetables from markets, ignoring the fact that their lettuces and radishes were dismal and paler in color than his.
Not a word was spoken to him, or of him. The once great soldier and scholar, reduced to a hermit that kept company with bovine skulls.
This darkness that surrounded him was nothing, not dank or dry, with no weight or gravity - yet he was falling. Falling further and further down the hole, struggling to wake up once again. He couldn't fight it, the vortex was too strong for him. He finally hit ground, and became the void - he was nothing.
The cards, however, the cards deemed otherwise. He remembered, or they did, him and his life. The training of a soldier, the pain of having his home and family destroyed, the love of sandal wood and bone. The game, he remembered, his guild and their victories.
Then he remembered the nightmare that started it all. Being forgotten and left to wither - that was no longer going to happen. The little ones indulged his questions and showed him what was going on, they bought the trinkets he made, and they swapped stories of wars and battles.
Yes, that was how the rest of his life would be. No longer would he gripe and complain about the world - he would seek it out and explore the intricacies and the paradoxes of it.
Now, for sure, he had to break the game and get out.
MY STATS
My character’s username: SANDSHARK My character’s level: 96 Character’s HP: 40 Character’s Job Class: Gryphon Current party: n / a Current Guild: Penumbra Location: White Queen's Castle Small IC description of character: A tall and bony man with a gold trimmed coat and long auburn hair covering his eyepatch. Tends to have a sneer on his face and looks down his nose at people. Character journal:Here!
Carhop Cavalier
Familiar Teenager
Offline
kuropeco
Dramatic Marshmallow
Offline
Posted: Sat Mar 29, 2014 6:20 pm
"The blood was everywhere, but mostly it was on his hands. And mostly it was spread all over Shiloh's face and body until there was nothing left but scarlet; a deep, blackening scarlet that smelled harshly of metal and copper.
He couldn't stop the blood, or forget that he'd been the cause of it in the first place."
The taste of blood was metallic.
It was always metallic; a terrible, coppery tang that sat heavy on his tongue, filling his senses with the fullness of it all. It had a strange sensation to it as well, an unpleasant texture and a horrible smell that permeated all other smells. Ian had had cuts and bruises growing up, scrapes that had needed gauze and bandaids and disinfectant - and, in some cases, stitches - but this was different, this was so very, very different.
He was kneeling by Shiloh's body, and he was still, so still that Ian himself had practically stopped breathing. He could feel the agony of what he'd done sinking into his chest; an icy cold that expanded until he could scarcely draw air into his lungs, until he was heaving with the effort of remaining calm. A thick, cloudy panic overhung his thoughts, hindering his ability to see clearly, to remember what he had done in the first place.
"Shy - "
He couldn't get the whole name out. He felt like he'd swallowed sandpaper.
"Shy - "
His fingers were shaking so badly he was surprised they hadn't vibrated right off of his body. His hand stretched towards the body in front of him, a terrible desperation in his voice, galling him, because even in his weakest moments he had never felt as fearful and devastated as he had in this moment.
Shiloh had already died once, but he'd come back - and even then, it had been different.
He hadn't felt the same way about him as he did now.
Next to Shiloh's body was another body - this one had dark hair that fell over her face, half covering a bandaged eye - and on the other side, pale hair and glasses - and on the other side, Jack and Finn, and then Dorian and Quinn - and then Patrick's body, with a noose around his neck - and the world around him was just filled with everyone that he hadn't been able to save, and he couldn't breathe -
"Wake up."
His eyes shot open, and there was Shiloh, sitting next to him in bed, already dressed, his legs dangling over the side. In front of him was Nevada, squinting at her reflection in the mirror on the back of the closet door. She frowned, twisted a lock of hair back into a long braid, and then sat back, satisfied.
Ian blinked slowly. Shiloh smiled and leaned over, pressing his lips gently against his.
"Wake up, sweetheart," he said lightly. "Remember? We're going to go meet the others for lunch." He patted Ian's shoulder affectionately. "Come on, sleepyhead, you gotta get dressed still; everyone's waiting for us, and we're gonna be late."
A smile spread across Ian's face, and he threw back the covers, swinging his legs over the side and accepting Shiloh's hand to pull him up. There was no trace of the sadness, nor the unhappiness that had been on his face before, and no inkling that he remembered the dream in which he'd been kneeling by their dead bodies.
"All right, all right," Ian laughed, and he slung an arm around Shiloh's waist, the other around Nevada's. "Who's treating me to breakfast, then?"
"It's lunchtime, you goof," Nevada answered him, jabbing at his side, and their laughter echoed down the hall as they stepped out into it and closed the door behind them.
OOC
My character's username: _ruffian_ My character's level: 27 Character's HP: 30 / 30 Current party: Current Guild: Location: Character journal:x
Posted: Sat Mar 29, 2014 6:27 pm
Nightemare
A hot desert wind whipped sand against her dark skinned face as she stood upon the crest of a sand dune. The sun high in the sky warmed her skin.
It was familiar.
It was safe.
The cries of birds in the distance turned her head, squinting into the bright horizon, Falair pulled the brim of her hat down to shade her eyes even more. A dark mass moved quickly in her direction. Flapping wings and loud cries filled her ears.
And in an instant they were upon her. A swirling mass of feathers, beaks and claws. The noise it made was deafening. Overwhelming. Clasping her ears with her hands she tried to drown out the noise as she was forced to her knees in the sand.
They began to peck and claw at her exposed skin. Like vultures upon a dead carcass. But she was not dead! Falair swatted at them the best she could but all that got her were pieces of flesh ripped from her already bony arms and hands. She could feel her hair being ripped and tugged at. Her clothes tearing away.
The sand beneath her began to move. Turning to quick sand. The more she struggled against the birds the further she was being sucked down into a dark abyss. There was no win situation here. If she stopped fighting the birds she would merely be a meal served up to them on a silver platter.
And so she fought. And sank. Deeper and deeper. Falair knew she was stuck now. There was no escape. Reaching out an arm to grasp as something. Anything. Her reach was only met with a fist full of feathers.
Down the sand pulled her. It's crushing weight against her thin body. The last thing she saw was the sky through a flurry of birds. The flock had thinned now as she took a last breath and finally slipped beneath the sand.
At least she wouldn't be a pile of sun bleached bones upon the dunes. There was some comfort in that.
And then she snapped awake, but it wasn't a full wake. At least, it didn't seem like it to her. Falair's eyes fluttered as her vision cleared though still blurry around the edges. Was that the ceiling of her home? She couldn't be quite sure.
She tried to move. Tried to sit up. But her body would not respond. A severe send of dread and panic overcame her as she struggled inside her own mind.
Move.....move....MOVE!
The next second she was pulled back. Back into the crazy world and a voice firmly told her that she belonged here. No, she did not belong. This wasn't real. She knew that. It...it wasn't!
She tried to scream as the darkness surrounded her. Reaching out her hand, trying to grasp at anything in the darkness. She was blind. Or there was nothing. Either way she could not tell up from down.
And then a hand grabbed her own. A strong hand, much larger than her own. It grabbed her hand and pulled. The darkness around her faded as sunlight nearly blinded her. The hand had pulled her from the crushing sand, the owner's strength surprised her. She was sure she had been crushed by it.
Blue sky and warm sand, She took a deep breath of air, freedom. In that moment she realized she was not her normal self. No. She was small again. A child.
Looking up with wide eyes, she couldn't see the face attached to the hand. But she knew who it was. A heavy frown upon his lips, worry and concern oozed from him before the next second she was embraced by strong arms. "Papa..."
Her voice sounded foreign and small. The corners of her eyes stung as tiny hands grasped at his clothes tightly, holding on for dear life. Papa had saved her. But...she knew he would. He had always been there to. "You don't belong here. Don't give in."
In another second she was full grown again, her right size and age. Standing upon a warm sand dune, the wind whipping across the desert. In the distance she could see a figure fade into the shimmering horizon. She wiped her eyes. A small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
OOC
My character's username: Wykid My character's level: 29 Character's HP: 30 Job Class: Caterpillar Current party: Current Guild: Location: Small IC description of character:
Thin with dark skin. Wykid wears the black and blue Caterpillar armor. Her mouth is covered by a mask hiding the bottom half of her face and the sleeves of her shirt are larger than normal, slightly translucent at the wrists giving a small peek at her bone arms. Its hard to tell her disposition at the time unless you are watching her body language. But even that can be a bit tricky. But for the most part she's fairly good natured.
Six men sit around him staring silently down: six men dressed in the family colors, lush capes sweeping over their shoulders, furrowed brows driving their eyes deep into shadow. The effect, combined with hooked noses that Harrow hopes never to grow into, is one of great vultures gathered around the dinner table.
It perfectly suits how Harrow feels about his lot in life. The birds gather round and watch him with distant eyes, waiting for him to trip over his own feet so that they can descend, and devour him.
And here he is paralyzed, staring up at them with his own eyes wide and wild, while they hem and haw and cough and shake their heads slowly...
It is different this time: it is different because he only has a vague recollection of who he is, it is different because of the lingering, paralyzing fear that he can't explain or wrap his mind around, and it is different just because it is different.
Six men sit around him staring silently down: six men dressed in the family colors, lush capes sweeping over their shoulders, furrowed brows driving their eyes deep into shadow. The effect, combined with hooked noses that Harrow hopes never to grow into, is one of great vultures gathered around the dinner table.
But what he realizes, as he looks back up at them, heavy brows knitting in the middle of his forehead, is that vultures only eat the dead. And he is still very much alive.
He has no reason to flinch and cringe. He has no reason to flush, all at once, just from the sensation of their eyes on his face. He doesn't even need to fear the tripping -- inevitable as it is -- because one small fall certainly isn't enough to kill him.
They want him to use the sword? Well, let him, then. And as he has the thought, it is in his hand: not in the shape of its usual, half-melted blade, but instead as an old-fashioned, heavy-mouthed musket. He cocks the gun as he rises to his feet, and the vultures flutter up into the sky above him, transforming to honking, terrified geese as they do.
He shoots them down, one after the other. He uses more shots than he has to, certainly, but they tumble from the sky in the distance, and as they do, his mouth spreads into a grin.
MY STATS
My character's username: SpringTooth My character's level: 37 Character's HP: 40 Character's Job Class: Royal Gryphon Current party: None Current Guild: None Location: ??? Small IC description of character: Six feet tall with dark, somber, enticing eyes and posture that says he's afraid of nothing. Character journal:Here
Posted: Sat Mar 29, 2014 6:54 pm
Nightmare
She is the tendrils of smoke curling around her fingertips, sliding over her scales and through the folds of her clothes. Thick and suffocating, she fills a tiny room, lit only by old candles burned almost completely down to the wick. She covers the windows and the doors, her presence so heavy that there would be no chance of pushing her out of the way. Her presence behaved like smoke, but was as unmovable as a boulder, trapping the circle of oracles in that tiny room.
Delphyne recognized the faces, but not their names, she could recognize her own face in the group now. It was disorienting, to see her body but to not be in it, to see her hands reach out to connect to the two older oracles beside her without being told to. Delphyne didn't want to, but there her body was, acting as if on instinct, or if it was predestined to do just as it was doing.
She was the smoke, but she was so horribly trapped. She swirled and pulsed, twisting down back to her body to try and break through the barrier of flesh. For being undead, it was unimaginably difficult, and try as she might to return to the shell of her body, she couldn't. The smoke pillowed and rose to her nostrils, seeking entry there, but upon bringing herself up to her own face she was terrified.
Her expression was blank, emotionless, but in that moment she felt it all. Resignation, defeat, begrudging acceptance of who she was meant to be. Another nameless oracle.
It was that dream again, the same dream she had before waking up in Wonderland. The same story, the same fate. She didn't want to live through this again, didn't want to bear witness to the body that sat alive, but not living. She was the smoke again, desperately weaving around her vacant body, trying to break through, trying to reclaim herself and her dignity. Her body hummed a soft chant, blue eyes dull and fixated on the center of the circle.
No!
She was tired of being forced to fit into the mold, and only once she was away from the Circle did she realize with abstract horror that they hadn't been molding her into a powerful psychic at all. They had been raising just another member, another blank face, so that their traditions and their power would continue. ENOUGH.
The tendrils of smoke billowed with anger, filling the cramped room, but the Circle did not budge. They did not seem to notice her anger and determination! The room grew dark underneath her shadow, the lit candles flickered and burnt out. Delphyne refused to resign herself to this fate, she would not accept this life. She would forge her own path, make her own name. Delphyne would be herself and no one else. Gathering her energy she surged back down to her body, and this time she knew where to go - not through the nose, not through her mouth, but through the heart. The smoke twisted, forming into a tiny, vicious tornado as she took back the body that belonged to her.
Delphyne gasped, her eyes blinking, her senses returning to her. Her head turned, slowly taking in the circle gathered tightly. Their eyes were shut, their mouths moving to form a low chant, a gentle hum. They were lost in their own worlds, their own power. But she was not. She was not lost. Gently, Delphyne removed her hands from the women next to her and stood. The anger she had felt before ebbed away, and she smiled as she stepped away, walked to the door, and left.
OOC
My character's username: the0racle My character's level: 83 Character's HP: 30 Character's Job Class: Cheshire Cat Wraith Current party: n/a Current Guild: Penumbra Location: Small IC description of character: An oddly scaley cheshire cat, who seems to always have a distant look in her eyes, as if she's thinking of something else, or nothing at all. Character journal:here
There is a long dark hallway and at the end of it the crib is silent. (she is always a baby in this nightmare: never a gangly, dark-lashed toddler confident on her feet speaking with childish self-assurance but always an infant with useless clumsy hands curling around his useless clumsy fingers)
"See," says Jane gently. "See? Promised you we figured it out."
Blood runs out of his shoulder and pools in the hollow of his palm.
("Found them this time," says Fiona drily. "A big one, looks like, sir. Brachial or subclavian. Not great for your purposes, sir.")
He'd been too late and Jane stands next to him and pats his shattered shoulder and says: "See? It's fine." Clusters of locusts climb the threshold
in what is obviously pre-swarming behavior. The instinct to swarm has been verified as a reaction to the pressures of overpopulation. Certain stimuli caused by crowding and food competition induce physical changes in the locusts, who undergo a moult before swarming occurs. A particularly devastating swarm can cause years of repercussive damage due to agricultural destruction
and the hum of their limbs against their wings is the static of the baby monitor magnified and backmasked.
"Listen," says America kindly, patting his shattered shoulder. "You ******** up."
There is no pulse in her wrist when he takes it, and Bix's chest is still and unmoving when he informs him: "Like, badly. Front line's no place for you, Obi Wan. Dodged it again and again, but you? I don't know." He waits sneering for Bashmet to tell him that he is inefficient but Bashmet says nothing because Bashmet's lungs are full of blood and water.
"Bad news, Pirate Boy," says Clerise as she pats his shattered shoulder and distractedly wipes the blood away on the end of her braid. The glasses are on. "He was right. I mean, I get why you thought he was wrong, but man, was he ever ******** right. You had to go and find out this way, huh?"
A doe blinks her eyeless sockets at him from across the threshold beyond the drifting wall of locusts rising and falling and synchronized in a way that is almost lovely: a episode of starlings or a shimmering wave of silver fish, harmonious, interlocked, a perpetual cascade. She blinks and shivers her coat like a fly-pestered horse and then she shakes her head in a human motion and turns to the window.
"See?" says Jane, gently, kindly, in the empty hallway. "See."
Waking is an act of violence. It is a moment of brutality, of sudden hurt, and where there should have been relief at the shedding of the nightmare there was only a paralyzed terror. He feels the cold hand on his shoulder and he wants to answer it that no, he doesn't belong here, whether here is Deus or in the realm of dreams or anywhere that it could possibly mean, but he is powerless. He is a puppet on the end of strings, and he has no idea who holds them, but they lead him inexorably and terribly back into sleep.
Or at the very least, back into the nightmare. He is not sure--is it the final coherent thought he has--that it's the same thing at all.
He wanders. He would be distressed at the recurring motif of being lost, if he were capable of being distressed, if he could remember that it was recurring. He exists instead in an almost-pleasant state of emptiness, devoid of identity and thus of care, until he stumbles into the block and is relieved of his relief by a sudden decision that is not really a decision at all because there are two cards and one is white and the choice is so simple, so easy, that he makes it unthinkingly.
Remember, someone tells him, he tells himself, and he begins to protest that he does not want to remember but it is unavoidable now. With dismay he does as he is ordered.
There is a long dark hallway--
no, he thinks, no--I don't want to remember.
--and at the end of it the crib is silent.
(she is always his little girl in this nightmare dream: always a gangly, dark-lashed toddler confident on her feet speaking with childish self-assurance and never an infant with useless clumsy hands curling around his useless clumsy fingers)
"See," says Jane gently. "See? Promised you we figured it out."
Blood runs out of his shoulder and pools in the hollow of his palm.
Clusters of moths swarm the threshold, pale green, nearly white, and eye-spotted with lilac and plum. Their wings rustle a soothing sound, and he closes his hand over the bleeding wound in his shoulder to fumble towards them. He steps over the bodies as he goes, the carcasses of shadows and night terrors and strangely-toothed men with mouths where eyes should be and with bodies like dessicated victims of starvation. All of them bear the wounds of a long knife or perhaps of enormous antlers; where their shadowy unreal flesh parts it spills not gore but the feathery shapes of pale moths, and he reaches out unthinkingly with his bloodied hand to rest it on Fionnghal's powerful gold-white shoulder. She bears the mark of his hand like a trophy. Wings beat clumsily in the light of the sun suspended between her antlers.
The moths climbing the threshold sift and part for him, and he pauses at the doorway to look back through the long hallway with its litter of felled dangers. The light over Fionnghal's brow chases back the shadows of the room, and he steps towards the crib, and she is waiting in it. She reaches her frail arms and he takes her into his, and resting her on his hip, her head nestled against his shoulder (which, in the way of dreams, is no longer bloodied despite the scarlet handprint vibrant against Fionnghal's white fur), he steps to the window. It would be appropriate--it would be fitting, and sentimental--to say that the sun is coming up, but it is not. Moonlight silvers the suburban lawn and the discarded toy at the end of the sidewalk where he'd told her twice, three times, not to leave her things.
"They're all gone now," he says to her, he whispers to her, he promises her: a promise he can keep. She turns away from the window to bury her face in his sleeve, to clutch at his shirt in her tiny fingers, and the threadbare fabric might as well be armor. "I took care of them for you." She asks him something, slurred and sleepy, and he brushes her hair away from her temple to kiss her. "Yeah," he says. "I'm staying here. They're all gone now."
A moth, beautiful, harmless, the blood of a now-fallen enemy, scales the window frame, and he reaches out to let it clamber bumbling onto his finger.
"See?" says Fionnghal kindly, her soft nose bumping against Tuesday's hair, the light of her gilding the little girl's curls, highlighting the ends of her matted eyelashes. "See."
MY STATS
My character's username: The Waxwing Slain My character's level: 6 Character's HP: 40 Character's Job Class: Caterpillar Current party: Current Guild: Location: Small IC description of character: Waxwing fits neatly into the "attractively weatherbeaten highwayman" archetype: rough brown hair falling a bit longer than his coarsely-stubbled jaw, a rakish scar across one brow, a lean and wiry build,and a general bearing of ne'er-do-well garnished with an unimpressed, "been there, done that" stare from dark, deep-set eyes. A pair of dark stag's antlers finish the carefully-constructed suggestion of a barely-tamed animal.
Whose face was very like a crow, With eyes, like cinders, all aglow, Who seemed distracted with his woe--
My character's username: Mimsy 
