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The adventure begins - Time - 12-22-2016
RE: The adventure begins - Iasan - 12-22-2016
Time stands still.
Time has no meaning.
Not for those who live forever. Those who taste the sands of Time, close their eyes, and let the waves of death plummet over them softly leave the world with a beautiful sense of peace. Their time is done. Life has had their way with them and they have grown, lived, and returned to the dust.
Not all of them are that lucky.
Iasan stands like an inkstain against the white backdrop. It has seemingly come from nowhere—and yet, he knows in his head he has seen this before. Even his mother’s voice inside his head has quieted; this is rare. And new. Something has happened in the world of Beqanna that has not happened in an age. Not since time stopped for an old man who’s dying wish was to save his son; giving him the strength of magic to stand on his own four feet and conquer the world as he sees fit. Jason had thought his time was done too. He closed his eyes, felt the ocean, and lifted his spirit to the heavens.
His breathing stopped. His heart beat silenced.
And then it started again. And the quiet side of his mind fell asleep inside the head of a sooty little boy with a snow-drop blanket. His heartbeat quickened at the spectacle of magic before him. His nostrils flared—something was definitely at work here. His ears flopped around his head as his fuzzy mane and tail kept up with the Wind. The scents in the air—they become more ominous. Colder. When the breeze suddenly shifts, Iasan lifts his head toward the North West, his head tilting curiously. Then all of a sudden, his heartbeat quickens yet again—
And the breeze stops. All is quiet.
Eerily quiet.
Iasan blinks, looking down at the ground. He takes a step and notices that the grasses do not move with him. Their blades fracture and split—falling to the ground. He moves through the moors, cracking the shoots in his wake, making a very obvious path—in case he feels the need to make a quick escape. He munches the last bit of the food he had been eating, and swallows. Looking up, he blinks, stepping into the sunlight.
Not even the birds have escaped whatever villainy has taken place. Their paths of flight have been halted. Wherever they were going—whatever they were doing—would have to wait until the touch of magic had left.
Iasan felt the magic tingling across his body. He’s seen this before. He knows this entity. He’s nervous, but he is not scared. Following the hill upward, he sees the progression of time. Dead leaves, fallen to the ground. The sun hides behind the clouds and a shadow falls across the expanse once more, drowning the whole world in a cooler feeling than Iasan had had before. Autum has fallen victim to Winter, and though the child knows that the day has not changed—indeed it has frozen—he feels the pull of age as his muscles are more defined, and he feels himself growing larger and taller—as if by walking this path towards the dead of winter, he has aged right along as he normally would.
Gone is the fuzz, and in its place is a young man with Amber eyes looking upon a broad-mouthed cave. The rocks the rise up before him are covered in snow and ice and with a concentrated flick of his ears, he knows that there is a sound coming from the heart of the cavern. He steps, pushing back his lips to reveal pink gums and yellow teeth; his nostrils take a deep inhale to gauge the danger.
In his head, he knows he has seen this before. Though he does not know why. Memories and shadows dance before Iasan’s eyes. Memories of a lifetime before his. And yet he still hears the sound above the din of his thoughts. He turns back towards the lower parts of the meadow, where Autumn still rules. Flicking his tail, he turns back to the darkness, seeking the truth of why these memories haunt him. He wants answers. He wants the traits to bless his blood with the discernment of his power. Why was he like this? Why does he feel drawn to the dark? And lastly—
Who calls from the belly of this beast?
Choosing the first tunnel that lay on his left, he takes another step, and the reincarnation of Jason disappears into the dark.
Iasan
RE: The adventure begins - Jay's Wing - 12-23-2016
Time is like a blanket, stretching over the bed of life. It's cozy on rainy nights, and comforting to some. Jay's Wing is one of the few who takes comfort in the passing of time.
Frequently, she finds herself pondering over the theologies of life. Where did Time begin? Who invented time? She is pondering these things when evrything grows still. The horse beside her has frozen mid bite, the leaves in the forest have stopped their flutter down to kiss the earth. And yet, she is left alone. The only animation in a seemingly inanimate world.
The ebony girl with the ivory hair's eyes flash with suprise, then her head turn curriously as a breeze blows from the north. Her mouth is clamped shut, but that's the only non-moving part of her. The world swiftly turns white, like Time has blown a blizzard in with the winds, then the storm stops as swiftly as it started, leaving the child in wonder.
She feels herself being carried away, like a bird caught in an updraft. Jay turned her dark, minature head in the direction the winds left, only to see a cave. Jay's Wing quivers her knees, just slight. She breathes deep, cold air piercing her lungs. A scream comes from the mouth of the cave, startling the foal, yet somehow drawing her closer.
Jay enters the cave, it's dark and looming mouth shading her path. In the cool, damp light of the cave, she can just make out two paths. One is to her left,another in the center, and one off to the right. She hears the screams, someone is calling for help. Feeling like the brave soul she is, she decides to continue on in her journey. Angling dark lobes tword each of the enterances, she choses the center. C's always the correct answer, right?
(ooc: Jay's Wing chooses a trait, versus points)
RE: The adventure begins - SaphiraG1rl - 12-23-2016
OOC: (Blazing Sunfall would prefer a trait)
The world seemed to have stopped, as if she was living on the realm of canvas colored by an elite artist, able to catch every tiny detail; including the mare she was weaving in front of. She nosed her, her nose rippling against her, but nothing on Ellyse moved.
Then the world spun around her, and it sped forward, dying. Snow creating an odd path to a cave that drew her in the same terrifying yet tempting way that the cave back in the Tundra of her past memories had once. She didn't jump at the screams, merely picked up her pace. She took the left, slightly larger path. Fell, stumbled. But kept moving onwards. She couldn't see, couldn't hear anything but the eternal echoing of the screams. So feminine. As if a deadly battle of childbirth gone wrong. How many times had she felt that pain?
Ah.. She didn't remember much of her past in her grief. Just the image of her mother decaying away within moments in the wind of the beach. That wind that almost took her.. What did it taste like to her ears again? Ah, yes.. The crying of an orphaned child, of a mother discovering her child stillborn. A cry of loss and sorrow.
None of it affected the grief-wracked mare in mourning. Her mind's eye had twisted too far to be sane. A mere turtle in it's shell. Waiting to snap at the right prey. She knew the name of what had stopped around her, led her here. And she spoke it. "Time." And then her mind exploded. The memories all rushed back, escaping the soft blocking of grief, throwing her forward and knocking her down off her feet. But she stood. "Time." Continuing that pitch black, uneven left path. Following the echoed screams. So much like that wind..
The world seemed to have stopped, as if she was living on the realm of canvas colored by an elite artist, able to catch every tiny detail; including the mare she was weaving in front of. She nosed her, her nose rippling against her, but nothing on Ellyse moved.
Then the world spun around her, and it sped forward, dying. Snow creating an odd path to a cave that drew her in the same terrifying yet tempting way that the cave back in the Tundra of her past memories had once. She didn't jump at the screams, merely picked up her pace. She took the left, slightly larger path. Fell, stumbled. But kept moving onwards. She couldn't see, couldn't hear anything but the eternal echoing of the screams. So feminine. As if a deadly battle of childbirth gone wrong. How many times had she felt that pain?
Ah.. She didn't remember much of her past in her grief. Just the image of her mother decaying away within moments in the wind of the beach. That wind that almost took her.. What did it taste like to her ears again? Ah, yes.. The crying of an orphaned child, of a mother discovering her child stillborn. A cry of loss and sorrow.
None of it affected the grief-wracked mare in mourning. Her mind's eye had twisted too far to be sane. A mere turtle in it's shell. Waiting to snap at the right prey. She knew the name of what had stopped around her, led her here. And she spoke it. "Time." And then her mind exploded. The memories all rushed back, escaping the soft blocking of grief, throwing her forward and knocking her down off her feet. But she stood. "Time." Continuing that pitch black, uneven left path. Following the echoed screams. So much like that wind..
Blazing Sunfall
The Grief Consumes My Sorrowful Soul...
RE: The adventure begins - Karaugh - 12-23-2016
another doctor's bill, another lawyer's bill - another cute cheap thrill.
you know that you love him if you put him in your will.
you know that you love him if you put him in your will.
Time had changed so many things since she was last in Beqanna. She wasnt the gangly newborn she had once been, nor the carefree yearling. Time had also taken from her. But Time gives and takes. That is just what Time does. She had come back to Beqanna to see if Time could rejuvenate the land from what it had become.
As she made her journey through the lands she had met some familiar faces. Some Time had changed but others, the immortals, Time could not touch. I guess they were too good for Time. She was not one of these gifted few. As a matter of fact she possessed no special gifts and her mother disliked that. Would she ever be good enough for her? Probably not.
As she reunited with her father in the Forest, walking across the now dead land she thought about Time... She thought about the crisp air, the bright scheme of colors, yes Autumn was her favorite season. The progression of the lands made her think of dying. Dying was amusing but death was rather blah to her. So thus was winter, the blah season.
She made small talk with her father as they traveled to the west side of the forest. Small talk bored her. Suddenly a quiet fell upon the land, an eerie quiet. She looked to her father to see his reaction. She almost startled as she looked upon his frozen expression. What strange magic was this. She glanced about seeking reason. Leaving her mannequin of a sire she continued forward. A distant scream came from her right. She turned towards it and continued. A rush of cold winds came up from behind her pushing her towards the sound. A scene appeared out of nowhere of a cave surrounded by fall colors. The darkness of the mouth of the cave called to her. She was not afraid of darkness, she bathed in darkness. She kept going and upon entering the cave she could make out three tunnels... Decisions. Once again a scream rang but so much closer and to her right. Surely she had to find the source. She turned to the right and continued into the dark passage. A sparkle of adventure in her globes.
OOC: trait please
Karaugh
illicit daughter of nymphetamine and killgore
RE: The adventure begins - Divide - 12-23-2016
all of my devils are free at last
all my secrets revealed
Days, months, years have passed her by and she has barely noticed. Time may have never released its grasp on her, but she has never bothered to notice. The young mare known as Divide has idled the time away in easy leisure, whiling away the days doing whatever catches her fancy. Her attention span might be notoriously short, but that simply means she will never be bored.
Indeed, she has rarely ever had opportunity to be. And certainly not today.
Not when time ceases.
The moment that it happens, she is alone in the trees, humming a simple, carefree tune as she watches birds flitter through the trees, preparing for winter, preparing to head south, doing whatever else it is birds do. Eyes of pale gray dance from branch to branch, quiet, happy, careless. Entirely unaware of the vagaries of the changed world that surrounds her.
That is, until the moment everything stands still. Birds freeze in midair, wings stretched in eternal flight. Leaves pause in the midst of their erratic flutterings, held prisoner to a force far beyond their comprehension. A force even the purple mare with the gray tresses cannot understand.
For a moment, she can only stare slack-jawed at the unexpected stillness that surrounds her. Then, she thinks she must be dreaming. But who would dream such a thing? She never has before.
And then time is flying forward, the leaves browning, dying before her, swept away by the merciless hands of time as snow sets in to cover the world in white. Only then does she realize something much more powerful (something much more fascinating) is at play here.
She turns slowly, eyes scanning a world turned unexpectedly to winter, until her sight catches on something odd (well, comparatively speaking, considering the strangeness that now surrounds her). There, in the distance, remains just a hint of the richness of fall color. Curiosity beckons, and, with barely any consideration at all, her feet follow.
The air shifts, changing as she walks, warm hints of summer being chased by the frigid fingers of deep winter. After a moment, she realizes she is following the receding fall. The icy winds trace her footsteps, bringing winter with it. She wonders then if she is following autumn, or if winter is following her.
It is impossible to tell how long she walks. With time acting so strangely, it could have been mere moments, or an eternity of days. Regardless, with no real understanding of the passage of time, she reaches the gaping mouth of a very intriguing cave. Glowing lights dance around the entrance, lighting the mysterious depths of that open maw. Winter has not quite yet reached this place, the indeterminable energy holding its chill grasp at bay for the time being.
After several moments of staring in wide-eyed wonder, she realizes she can hear faint sounds emanating from the darkness of the cave. Sounds suspiciously remnant of screaming. Briefly, she thinks perhaps she is hearing things, but it is soon evident that she is not. Or, if she is, she truly has (finally) gone batty.
Apparently, as evidenced by her next actions, she really has lost her mind. Instead of turning and leaving like any sane horse should, she decides to enter to the cave. To draw nearer to the source of that mysterious shrieking. She might need to get her head checked after this, but first she feels an overwhelming need to assuage her curiosity.
In short order, she is presented with three separate tunnels, each echoing with those eerie cries. For several precious minutes (or perhaps only seconds or many long hours) she vacillates, equine brows furrowing as she mutters softly to herself, ”Left. No… right. Hmmm… middle? Damnit, which way?”
Finally, with no clear choice, she simply selects the left tunnel at random, hoping it is the correct one. With only the barest whisper of trepidation, she sets forward, knowing that turning back is no longer an option.
divide
P.S. Divide would like a trait
RE: The adventure begins - Druid - 12-23-2016
They had laid waste to the world. Sucked the life from the very marrow of her and when they had finished they tossed her bones aside and demanded more. Druid had witnessed it all, had grimaced as they ravaged the lands for sport, for pride, for prejudice and then spat - win or lose. When she broke he wept, became angry in response to the damages she finally succumbed to but she wasn’t breaking at all. Beqanna did not yield and this he would learn.
She swallowed them, devoured them whole as she buckled inwardly, taking them with her. Druid did not fight, he surrendered to her claim, bracing himself for impact and knowing she would secure him regardless of his innocence. He had come to this land a foreigner and he had been spent just like the others, she was blind and uncaring to this recent addition.
He had been taken and spat out again as she remade herself, a great mountain rising against the slate colored sky. The lands rebirthed themselves and Druid relished in their infancy, what was made was whole and it was good.
It is in her newness he thrived, taking only what he needed from the earth. Still, even in his care to give and take equally there were so many who did not, they did not respect the forest or the grass beneath them. They did not know that the rocks and flowers were not simply adornments to the beaten path. They did not know and he hated them for it, Druid took to the other residents with a deep dislike. Greedy, reckless savages, the lot. Autumn shone bright that day, the chill in the gentle wind woke him, instilling a vivid alertness to his deep brownish green eyes. He watched the leaves change, turning from their emerald green splendor to burning embers against the boughs. Red, gold, orange. Like a fire against the sky, burning brighter than the sun’s rays. A simple spider gently lowered herself down from the branch above him, her spindly legs wiggling madly as she descended and Druid blew a warm breath of air to watch her swing. And swing she did, until she didn’t.
At the peak of her arc she stilled mid-air and held, unmoving. Druid blinked, shook his auburn head and looked again. She was frozen, her tiny spider body held in place by some invisible tether. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he took note of the stillness, the air was suspended too just like the spider. He missed the way it gently coiled around his legs, should he move? Druid took a good look around, the leaves no longer blew, no longer trembled against the branches. They no longer shook with the wind and thus the appearance of fire in the limbs was no more. A squirrel was frozen mid-bound, its little body a perfect crescent having not completed the movement. For a moment he was afraid to breathe, would he even be able to?
But then he did, took a slow and steady breath and his bog colored eyes looked around with caution. Nothing.
Something.
That single breath caused a rift in time, or simply time was done messing with him. Everything began moving at once, fast, much too fast. All around him the leaves fall to the forest floor, in one fell swoop the branches of the trees are bare. The grass beneath him shrivels and browns, curling away beneath his hooves. The temperature drops, the winds pick up and soon a blizzard of snow is attacking his face from the North. He can’t see, squinting his eyes against the gale all while his teeth chatter in his skull. Shivering, frozen stiff he wonders what has happened to upset the balance of nature and he pushes forward in an attempt to get away from the weather anomaly.
It takes a moment but finally the wind stops, he stops, standing confused in front of a cave.
Everything is untouched here, the world is still lit by fire in the trees and the air is warm compared to the frigid winterworld that has otherwise overtaken the land. Druid breathes a sigh of relief, pausing to catch his breath and reassert himself and acclimate to his surroundings. What’s going on? he thinks too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice the glowing orbs.
But they won't be ignored.
They twist feverishly in the air, one so much as whacks him in the face for good measure as if to say “hey you dolt, pay attention!” And he does.
The cave mouth is wide and the orbs return to their places to light its entrance. Druid, knowing no good could come from wandering into a sketchy cave, (even if he is one with nature and all) made to turn and leave. He rotated his body only an inch when it happened, the scream. It split the air from deep within the lit caverns, and though he meant to go he could not. It sounded desperate, it sounded familiar and thus the livered chestnut went inside.
Of course it couldn’t be easy, he could not simply save the day. Inside was just as confusing as out, the path made a fork, splitting into three separate entryways - straight ahead, to the right and to the left. Perfect. Sprinkle a little pitch darkness to the equation and you’re royally screwed. Lost, dark, blood curdling screams. Check check check. But if you’re going to enter a rando cave you might as well enter it to your doom right? Right?
“Right” he breathes and takes the path.
She swallowed them, devoured them whole as she buckled inwardly, taking them with her. Druid did not fight, he surrendered to her claim, bracing himself for impact and knowing she would secure him regardless of his innocence. He had come to this land a foreigner and he had been spent just like the others, she was blind and uncaring to this recent addition.
He had been taken and spat out again as she remade herself, a great mountain rising against the slate colored sky. The lands rebirthed themselves and Druid relished in their infancy, what was made was whole and it was good.
It is in her newness he thrived, taking only what he needed from the earth. Still, even in his care to give and take equally there were so many who did not, they did not respect the forest or the grass beneath them. They did not know that the rocks and flowers were not simply adornments to the beaten path. They did not know and he hated them for it, Druid took to the other residents with a deep dislike. Greedy, reckless savages, the lot. Autumn shone bright that day, the chill in the gentle wind woke him, instilling a vivid alertness to his deep brownish green eyes. He watched the leaves change, turning from their emerald green splendor to burning embers against the boughs. Red, gold, orange. Like a fire against the sky, burning brighter than the sun’s rays. A simple spider gently lowered herself down from the branch above him, her spindly legs wiggling madly as she descended and Druid blew a warm breath of air to watch her swing. And swing she did, until she didn’t.
At the peak of her arc she stilled mid-air and held, unmoving. Druid blinked, shook his auburn head and looked again. She was frozen, her tiny spider body held in place by some invisible tether. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he took note of the stillness, the air was suspended too just like the spider. He missed the way it gently coiled around his legs, should he move? Druid took a good look around, the leaves no longer blew, no longer trembled against the branches. They no longer shook with the wind and thus the appearance of fire in the limbs was no more. A squirrel was frozen mid-bound, its little body a perfect crescent having not completed the movement. For a moment he was afraid to breathe, would he even be able to?
But then he did, took a slow and steady breath and his bog colored eyes looked around with caution. Nothing.
Something.
That single breath caused a rift in time, or simply time was done messing with him. Everything began moving at once, fast, much too fast. All around him the leaves fall to the forest floor, in one fell swoop the branches of the trees are bare. The grass beneath him shrivels and browns, curling away beneath his hooves. The temperature drops, the winds pick up and soon a blizzard of snow is attacking his face from the North. He can’t see, squinting his eyes against the gale all while his teeth chatter in his skull. Shivering, frozen stiff he wonders what has happened to upset the balance of nature and he pushes forward in an attempt to get away from the weather anomaly.
It takes a moment but finally the wind stops, he stops, standing confused in front of a cave.
Everything is untouched here, the world is still lit by fire in the trees and the air is warm compared to the frigid winterworld that has otherwise overtaken the land. Druid breathes a sigh of relief, pausing to catch his breath and reassert himself and acclimate to his surroundings. What’s going on? he thinks too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice the glowing orbs.
But they won't be ignored.
They twist feverishly in the air, one so much as whacks him in the face for good measure as if to say “hey you dolt, pay attention!” And he does.
The cave mouth is wide and the orbs return to their places to light its entrance. Druid, knowing no good could come from wandering into a sketchy cave, (even if he is one with nature and all) made to turn and leave. He rotated his body only an inch when it happened, the scream. It split the air from deep within the lit caverns, and though he meant to go he could not. It sounded desperate, it sounded familiar and thus the livered chestnut went inside.
Of course it couldn’t be easy, he could not simply save the day. Inside was just as confusing as out, the path made a fork, splitting into three separate entryways - straight ahead, to the right and to the left. Perfect. Sprinkle a little pitch darkness to the equation and you’re royally screwed. Lost, dark, blood curdling screams. Check check check. But if you’re going to enter a rando cave you might as well enter it to your doom right? Right?
“Right” he breathes and takes the path.
druid
words: 945 points: HTML by Call
OOC: Druid chooses the path to the right- he also wishes to have a trait.thank
RE: The adventure begins - irisa - 12-24-2016
and the walls kept tumbling down
in this city that we love
in this city that we love
Irisa is used to glitches in her life, for she is a glitch herself – a fantasy made flesh and blood, dreamed into existence by a woman tasting madness. She lived in a sort of suspended animation for years, in the dream-world created by her mother. It was a fantastical world, of castles and jewels, where it was always daytime, always sunny. Irisa flew on the backs of birds as large as whales, she drank nectar sweet as honey. And this was real, to her, until one day it was not.
Until things glitched.
Unitl there was another, her twin (her abandoned sister, who did not know the same world, who knew a grim world of shadows and monsters). Only then were the scales knocked from her eyes, and thus came Irisa into this world, a dream walking into reality.
All this to say, at first Irisa was not overly bothered when the horses all around her stilled. It takes her a few minutes to become aware of the silence.
(Silence has a weight, you know. When you are the only one moving, silence can be like weights strapped to your ankles. Shackles.)
“Hello?” she calls out, but there’s no answer, and her words are swallowed by the silence.
“Mother?” she calls out, because this feels like a dream, and her mother is an architect of dreams. But there is still no response. There is still only silence, growing heavier and heavier. She swallows, saliva thick in her throat.
She comes to a river, and the water is unmoving. She can see the disturbance on its surface, but it’s frozen.
Unease builds in her, swells, just as the silence had. She has lived enough in dreams, and she wants nothing more of this strange and stupid world being foisted upon her.
And then things speed up, and the air grows colder, the grass dying beneath her feet. Irisa cries out in fear, begins to run, as if time were a thing that could be outrun.
She comes to a cave, a jut of rocks surrounded by a world where it’s still autumn. At the mouth of the cave things glow and float, like strange teeth, as if it’s not a cave at all but instead some primordial beast that has swallowed time itself.
And from the cave’s mouth comes screams, indiscernible cries. Irisa flinches, but the sound fills her with a queer sort of hope –s he is not alone in this bastardized world.
The cave yaws open and she is divided. She wants to run, flee from that horrible mouth. The cry comes again.
She walks forward, god help her. She was always the curious sort. The air is cooler here, damper, and the screams are longer, louder. The path leading into the cave forks off, three ways – left, center, right. Screams come from all three paths, it seems, and the screams cut into her like knives.
(There was no screaming in the dream-world, but there was plenty of it when they were wrenched out, her mother’s voice made cracked and hoarse, begging her to come back.)
They saw time flows in all directions, but Irisa only moves forward, down the center path. She does not look back, and walks headlong into the belly of the beast.
Irisa
tarnished x heartworm
(irisa chooses the center path, and opts for a trait, should it comes to that <3)
RE: The adventure begins - hawke - 12-25-2016
hawke
I’m a princess cut from marble
{ smoother than a storm }
Hawke chooses the path to the left. Trait over point, please.
Thank you! <3
RE: The adventure begins - Nyxia - 12-25-2016
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
It stretches, without end, in every direction.
(—it ends when She (mother) says it does.
—it begins when she says that, too.)
It wraps around itself a million times over, weaving and knotting. It opens wide, like a pair of welcoming arms – or a set of unhinging jaws. It has teeth, and they bite memories! Or, is it harmless? Harmless, but for the way it pulls them ever towards a potential menace.
...oh! she would have loved for time to stop in the middle of girlhood! Where she could idle, forever, in her nest of earth and windflower. Where father would never come but she would know he was out there somewhere, watching over her. And that would be enough.
Where her friends would be stilled, statues of fur and claws and antlers, in tableaus of play and peace! And where the sun would sit in the sky, half-awake and bleary-rayed, lighting motes of motionless fairydust in the deep, green gloom.
Where she would never have to dream because she would never have to sleep.
But it did not.
It pulled her ever towards.
...and then, one day, she found her way off of it. It had been like stumbling from a path lit up by fireflies, into a darkness so total, it was more like outer space than night. Like nothing.
An in-between; a transit stop.
A place out of time.
And spending time out of time is strange.
She cannot recall how long her body had waited for her, stuck in time without her to keep it warm.
In time, her body lost her left eye. It had withered and died in its destroyed socket. Time commands healing as much as it does decay. As it waited, her broken face had fused it’s left side back together, like a puzzle pieced haphazardly. Ugly and blood-crusted, but whole.
Still alive. Waiting.
She cannot remember how long it has been since she last saw father. She had looked for him. And Irisa too, once she had pried her body from the earth. ‘Father’ and ‘Irisa’ burnt her throat and bruised her lips, so in time, she stopped calling for them.
She stopped trying to make sense of her mother’s world, too.
Night bleeds into day – just as dreams worm their way into wakefulness; jeweled tigers and warning tongues prowl around her perimeter, always. So when Time stops, it is not the strangest thing she has ever seen. It unsettles her all the same. Her ears press back and forth, trying to find something real in the staleness that suddenly runs her blood icy.
“H-hello?” …‘mother?’ she thinks, because to Nyxia, it seems the most logical explanation. And that scares her even more because she knows what it is like to be unwanted in her mother’s mind. She knows what it is like to watch a world implode on itself – to be the bug in the illusion.
Nothing answers her ‘hello’, so she stands still. Waits, as she has before, in this in-between. Waits for the shaking and the anger that never comes. Instead, a bitter wind blows in from behind her, disrupting the quiet. It is not rich and leafy, but sharp and desolate. “What?” She peers over her right shoulder, squinting her bright, golden eye and watches, for a moment, as winter eats the autumn like a plague of locusts. Watches in a dull, wistful kind of way before fear returns and she wonders if this is the way this world kills itself.
If this is how it rids itself of her.
She runs, frantic and heaving, racing time itself – (strange, indeed). Flurries of snow rush in around her flanks, and their touch feels wholly unkind; the way the bright leaves fade in her peripheral reminds her all too well of the way a pastel can turn to gray. She runs until she cannot anymore, coming to huddle at the entrance of the cave like a frightened… girl. (Indeed. Time has left her behind, played with her in so many different ways.) She spins to face the onrush of doom, pressing her one good eye closed tight…
She waits.
But nothing comes.
When finally she opens it again, she stands in a puddle of safety, surrounded by the utter nothing of winter. She stifles a sob and fights back tears. (She had cried then, too, in that quaking dream world, because she knew she was alone.) But the tears that try to come are interrupted by a muffled scream from deep inside the cave. She gasps and turns, peeking inside, her heart fluttering at the thought of: not alone.
“Hello?” it echoes back to her, mutated and otherworldly. The glow that bounces eerily off the damp, stone walls does not draw her in. It reminds her of distant, on-coming suns. But when the scream rattles out again, it looses the idleness that keeps her shivering in the leftover autumn. She pushes her way into the dark (she is no stranger, after all; she has been here before, a place between other, unkind places), “Irisa? Father?” She stares, unsure, down the center path, shuffling side to side. “...hello? Anyone?”
Then, without thinking, she follows the path she can see best.
She goes right.
and I pray to blades of grass to find forgiveness in the weeds.
Nyxia goes right, and prefers a trait over points!