Scylla hit Madness Level in this ORP
Scylla's body slowly crumpled until hit the ground, the park's soil scraping bare legs and knees, her arm wrapping around her gut, heaving in gulping breaths of air that felt slick and hot, not cold- the air should be colder at night. Shouldn't be this hot, shouldn't be this agitating, should be sharp, not... oily. Her hands shook and she dug them into her skirt, her face going bloodless under her tanned skin, a ghastly mask with amethyst chips. Her shuddering, ragged inhaled were loud gasps in her own ears, and if she had been in her own mind she might have wondered how they sounded to others. But Scylla was not in her own mind. She was not even sure if she was on the battlefield anymore.
One thing she was... Scylla was on fire. All she could see was the fog, like hazy flames. The monster that was out there was grabbing at her, tucking her under, pulling her to a place where there was none of her left except fear, fire, and fury. There was something in the dark, threatening her- and she was afraid. But why? Why was she afraid? There was no reason to be afraid. The voices had reminded her she was a monster too- she shouldn't be afraid. Over and over she repeated it, her arms wrapping around herself, digging in against the-
Her head lifted, wraith's hands on her cheeks, and she stared into the face of the creature that had spoken. "Destroy them all." it told her, and Scylla shook her head. Her reflections danced in the mirrors around them; blue-black curls bounced and shook, gold glinting in the inky darkness. Shifting inky vines, tentacles in the dark. “Destroy them all,” it told her again, and in the mirror she could see someone else- the speaking girl. The hands on her face turned her to look at the girl, tendrils and vines digging into her, sinking into her skin.
No. No no no no please. Scylla shook her head mutely. She tried to speak, but she couldn't. The hands held her mouth shut, clenched her jaw. All she could do was watch, and stare. She didn't want to. Let me go!but though she struggled, she couldn't get free. She couldn't avoid the slow rage that slid down her spine, spilling through her bones. This wasn't her. But she couldn't stop it.
There was a girl there, in front of her, but she had no reflection; there was a wraith behind her, but Scylla was alone in the mirrors. She could feel the fog and the writhing mass, but there was only Scylla- and then even her very reflection was gone, along with the distracting mirrors. There was only darkness, and the girl. A pixie, with dark skin and hair so blonde it was almost white. Blue eyes. She held the box, wearing patent leather shoes and a dress of sunset- pink, and orange, and blood red. The child lifted the lid, and something came oozing out. Dripping, black and red like inky blood, and with it, the sound of something screaming.
A baby, crying.
“No!” she shrieked it, struggling against the invisible arms holding her, the shriek garbled and mangled as she fought the grip on her face. “Keep the lid closed! Stop!” the madness poured through her, and she struggled through the sharp burst of pain as something made contact, the madness consuming her slowly. The child seemed to teehee, and the voices-
Where is she?
La madre sta per morire. Lasciala tenere sua bambina.
Where-
Qui, mamma. Guarda la tua bella bambina. Che cosa hai intenzione di nominare lei?
Wh-
The lid lifted, and Jada shrieked, struggling, the cries and blood spilling from the box as the lid came higher and higher. She struggled away from the grip of the Wraith, crawling towards the girl and the box on knees that scraped and bled, dragging herself towards the wails with an animal cry of her own; closer and closer and with every step the box lifted higher and higher. Closer and closer, through fuzzy memories and the stink of blood and burning. Dragging herself through the muck and the pain, through the madness burning her skin, until she was at the child's feet, staring up as the screams filled her ears, oil-slick blood pouring out of the lid and soaking her to her knees as she reached up.
A supplicant.
“Close it, please,” she begged.
The girl leaned down, mouth close to Scylla's own, and she whispered her command a third time. “Mama,” she whispered, and her breath stank of death, "Destroy them all."
Che cosa hai intenzione di nominare lei?
What was always the last thing in the box? Jada knew her mythology, and even in the growing madness the irony and humor was not lost on her, her laughter bitter and crazed. She reached up, touching the little girl's face with gentleness, and she whispered- “Hope. Hope is the last thing in the box.” She tried to slam her hand down on the box, to make the screaming stop.
Destroy them all.
And then Scylla was lost to the madness.
xxxPixie Nyxie
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