11-18-2019, 05:15 PM
<center><div style="position:relative;z-index:2;width:550px;background:#000000;font:12px 'Times New Roman', serif;border:2px solid #000000;box-shadow:0 0 10px #000000;"><p style="padding-top: 40px;font-size:12px;text-align: center;letter-spacing: 4px;color:#363636;text-shadow:0px 0px 5px #363636;margin:0;"><I>they're gonna eat me alive.</I></p><p style="text-align:justify;padding:40px 45px;color:#707070;letter-spacing: 1px;margin:0;">Nadya’s hooves never find solid ground. As she leapt the mist below gave way, sending her plunging into the turbulent waters. For a moment - weightless beneath the water - Nadya feels a cool sense of peace. She does not fear pain. She does not fear death. She simply closes her eyes - content to let the water take her.
It was not peaceful. The water sends her head over hooves. Debris grabs at her her flesh and batters her bones. It is not this that bothers her.
It is the screams. Memories flash before her eyes - some she can recognize, some unfamiliar to her. She can hear the screams of her friends. She can taste the metallic tang of blood and flesh in her mouth. She can hear the sounds of bones crunching but isn’t sure if they are her own bones, one of her victims, or someone else’s. Nadya has a difficult enough time distinguishing between reality and her nightmares, and now that it seems someone else’s nightmares had been added to the mix.
And then she is falling. It hardly registers. She was not concerned about her body and the physical pain she knew was to come. It was the memories that had her in agony. Her mouth opened as if to scream, but water rushes in and silences the sound.
The physical pain trickles in, but it is still nothing compared with how reliving the nightmare that had been her life had made her feel. Raw. Exhausted. Defeated. Ashamed.
She hung her head limply, overwhelmed. It took her a moment before it even registered that they’d all been swept away - her father included. It is only when she finally lifts her eyes that she sees her father scrambling to his feet. “Father,” she breathes, struggling to limp her way to his side. It is the closest she’d been to her father in what seems like an eternity, and cannot stop herself from brushing her nose against his cold, wet skin. She cringes at the sight of his injuries, wishing that in death she had access to her ability. She would gladly take his wounds as her own, even if only to provide him with a brief sense of comfort. The water continues to swirl around them, tinged red from the blood of all of those who had washed away. It both churns her stomach and fascinates her at the same time.
The magical mare is the one who draws her attention away from the crimson-tinged water.
So many would jump at the opportunity to live again. But not Nadya. Dread seeped into her very bones at the prospect. Yet, she knew that she had no choice in the matter. She had been selfish in choosing death over life. Now she could not be so selfish to send her father back. She wouldn’t.
<b>“My father earned his peace. He’s already been dragged from the afterlife once. Let him stay. Let him rest,”</b> she said, quietly, but her voice was firm. Trashlip, twice-dead, deserved to rest. He had left his mark upon Beqanna. Done his part. She couldn’t say the same for herself. She had wished for nothing more than death to come and claim her in the end. She knew it was selfish. Weak.
<b>“I fled from life,”</b> she said, the shame evident in her quiet voice, <b>“So send me back,” </b> she says simply. <i>Let me do something worthwhile. Let me find redemption.</i> The thoughts hover in her mind, but don’t breach her lips. That means nothing in the presence of one imbued with magic, and Nadya knows this. Her life has been characterized by shame. But she’s not ashamed of this want.
She doesn’t deserve peace.
Not now.
Not yet.
Not when there is work to be done.
</p><p style="padding-top: 10px;font-size:12px;text-align: center;letter-spacing: 5px; color:#363636;text-shadow:0px 0px 5px #363636;margin:0;"><I>n a d y a </I></p><img style="width:550px" src="https://i.postimg.cc/HkZydwjB/nadya.png"></div><center></center>
It was not peaceful. The water sends her head over hooves. Debris grabs at her her flesh and batters her bones. It is not this that bothers her.
It is the screams. Memories flash before her eyes - some she can recognize, some unfamiliar to her. She can hear the screams of her friends. She can taste the metallic tang of blood and flesh in her mouth. She can hear the sounds of bones crunching but isn’t sure if they are her own bones, one of her victims, or someone else’s. Nadya has a difficult enough time distinguishing between reality and her nightmares, and now that it seems someone else’s nightmares had been added to the mix.
And then she is falling. It hardly registers. She was not concerned about her body and the physical pain she knew was to come. It was the memories that had her in agony. Her mouth opened as if to scream, but water rushes in and silences the sound.
The physical pain trickles in, but it is still nothing compared with how reliving the nightmare that had been her life had made her feel. Raw. Exhausted. Defeated. Ashamed.
She hung her head limply, overwhelmed. It took her a moment before it even registered that they’d all been swept away - her father included. It is only when she finally lifts her eyes that she sees her father scrambling to his feet. “Father,” she breathes, struggling to limp her way to his side. It is the closest she’d been to her father in what seems like an eternity, and cannot stop herself from brushing her nose against his cold, wet skin. She cringes at the sight of his injuries, wishing that in death she had access to her ability. She would gladly take his wounds as her own, even if only to provide him with a brief sense of comfort. The water continues to swirl around them, tinged red from the blood of all of those who had washed away. It both churns her stomach and fascinates her at the same time.
The magical mare is the one who draws her attention away from the crimson-tinged water.
So many would jump at the opportunity to live again. But not Nadya. Dread seeped into her very bones at the prospect. Yet, she knew that she had no choice in the matter. She had been selfish in choosing death over life. Now she could not be so selfish to send her father back. She wouldn’t.
<b>“My father earned his peace. He’s already been dragged from the afterlife once. Let him stay. Let him rest,”</b> she said, quietly, but her voice was firm. Trashlip, twice-dead, deserved to rest. He had left his mark upon Beqanna. Done his part. She couldn’t say the same for herself. She had wished for nothing more than death to come and claim her in the end. She knew it was selfish. Weak.
<b>“I fled from life,”</b> she said, the shame evident in her quiet voice, <b>“So send me back,” </b> she says simply. <i>Let me do something worthwhile. Let me find redemption.</i> The thoughts hover in her mind, but don’t breach her lips. That means nothing in the presence of one imbued with magic, and Nadya knows this. Her life has been characterized by shame. But she’s not ashamed of this want.
She doesn’t deserve peace.
Not now.
Not yet.
Not when there is work to be done.
</p><p style="padding-top: 10px;font-size:12px;text-align: center;letter-spacing: 5px; color:#363636;text-shadow:0px 0px 5px #363636;margin:0;"><I>n a d y a </I></p><img style="width:550px" src="https://i.postimg.cc/HkZydwjB/nadya.png"></div><center></center>