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The village always has dull weather during the daytime, but it's easy enough to navigate through. Though the sky is cloudy and little light breaks through, by nighttime the climate changes. The air cools rapidly and within an hour of the sun setting, a chilling mist rolls from the forest and covers the village. It is almost suffocating and inhaling it even for only a moment will result in hallucinations. The visions are terrifying, often including shadows covering everything, the sensation of eternal falling, and the appearance of a great beast attacking. These hallucinations are always frightening and can last anywhere from a few moments through the entire night. There is no way to dispel the fog and it is too dangerous to stay outside past sundown.
Elsa thought he was safe. He'd ducked inside quickly, the first night, and been just fine. Metis and Athalia's place was big, and there was plenty of space, and his cloak made a welcome, warm blanket. He didn't trust the idea of staying out in this nightmare hellscape after dark, anyway. There was no way that it could possibly be a good idea, not when there were so many possibilities for what could go wrong. This was clearly a horror story, and Elsa did not want to be one of the hapless victims.
He'd been too far, when the sun started to set on the third night, to make it back to the house that Metis and Athalia were hosting people in, so he'd taken shelter in the first place he'd found that seemed to not yet be occupied. It was small, and he didn't intend to stay long--just until sunrise, and after that, he'd make his way back to where Metis and Athalia were staying, and he'd be with other people while he caught a few more hours of tense sleep. For the moment, though, he managed to find a small bed, with a mattress, and he laid his cloak down on it.
As the darkness stretched further, he wandered through the house, making sure that all the windows and doors were firmly shut and latched. He'd seen the strange fog that rolled in after sundown---and he absolutely did not want it getting in anywhere he was staying. There was no way it was safe, and Elsa absolutely did not want anything to do with any of it.
The problem, of course, was that this was an old, run-down house, and even though Elsa swore he checked every entrance and sought out cracks in the walls, he couldn't block them all.
He was sitting in the kitchen, trying to make himself a small fire, when it began to seep in. At first, Elsa had no idea--the gap it was sliding in through was hidden, a small split in the wall behind a massive, heavy-looking cabinet. Quickly enough, though, it began to fill in, and Elsa made a noise of horror. He was glad for his Senshi strength when he shoved the cabinet aside, and gladder still for the scraps of what might once have been linens hanging off its door handles so that he could shove one into the crack and block any more of the fog getting into his overnight shelter.
The problem was, it was in, and there was no getting it out, and as Elsa slowly sank to the floor, taking a deep breath, he breathed it in. There was no way to avoid it, not when it was in the air around him.
It was like taking ice into his lungs. He choked, gasping and stumbling up, and whirled around, feeling a sense of deep, impending dread. Something was going to happen, Elsa knew it, and he knew it was going to be terrible.
It came, at first, like more creeping, clinging fog, but it wasn't fog, and it wasn't coming in through any holes Elsa could find. he knew, he tried to block it--but nothing stopped the horrible, incoming tide of pure, inky black. There was no escape, even as Elsa staggered towards the door--but even in the state he was in, he knew that going outside would be worse, there would be more of the fog and the black and whatever else prowled in the night. If he left, he would die, but if he stayed--
If he stayed--
He would be--
Overwhelmed-----
The darkness crested, and grew, and from its depths rose a monster.
Elsa wanted to scream, but he couldn't make his voice work.
Not as the beast---a twisted amalgamation of man and deer and the forest itself, eyes burning and bright with horrible, awful hate--lurched for him and he ran, ducking into another room, but it came, it followed, it rattled, and Elsa was left desperate and sobbing, huddled in a corner, as it prowled towards him and picked him up off the ground. He swore he felt claws digging into his neck, gouging at the flesh and making him choke, and he reached up to scrabble at the hand with his nails, desperately trying to pull it away, kicking and struggling and fighting to get air into his desperate lungs.
Nothing he did budged it, but his hands, he remembered, weren't his only weapon. He fumbled with his gloves, and he was pretty sure he didn't so much take them off as rip them off, clawing at the cloth on his palms until it tore and gave and he could get bare skin against the creature's and choke out the name of his magic.
It seemed--almost surprised--like it had never known cold or fear before--and perhaps it hadn’t--and Elsa swore he saw the shape of a wendigo, lurching out of the black--
And the creature dropped him, turning to face its new foe--
and he fell--
into the black.
And he kept falling.
And falling
and falling,
with no end in sight.
He wasn't sure how long he fell for. He wasn't even sure if he really fell. Elsa could no longer tell up from down, or distinguish anything in the darkness he drifted through.
He wondered, briefly, if this was death. If the monster had, in fact, killed him. If he was bleeding out slowly, alone in the dark.
He closed his eyes, and wished for it to be over, but it did not end.
Not until he jolted awake, on the floor of the kitchen in that little cabin, shaking and shivering with pure fear.
He put his hand to his neck, and winced--but when he pulled it away, there was no blood, and when he stood to look in the mirror--to take in his mussed hair and the gloves he had obviously tugged and pulled at in vain, the only injuries he saw were scratches that matched his own nails.
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