03-28-2023, 09:28 AM
What's the last thing you think you'll remember before you die?
For myself, it wasn't memories of a loving family or laughter I shared with my friends over the years. There wasn't a particular wish or final request, no "would've could've should've". I don't take the time to appreciate my surroundings or try to take one last, deep breath.
For me, the last thing I remember clearly seeing was the face of my attacker.
That was when time slowed down and my instincts kicked in. It could've been adrenaline, but I could see so clearly despite the dark and those unusual shadows. She had horns and scales, (how original) and her eyes - those eyes! - gleaming silver in the dark. She was so determined and so sure of herself that even I felt the inevitability of my death creeping ever closer. There was no hope in fighting my way out; she was too powerful.
She was everything I had never been. She was everything I thought I could live without, come to prove me wrong in the most wretched way imaginable.
I remembered that face before the world went entirely dark.
Is this destiny? The thought came, forbidden. I sounded bitter.
Was this all I was meant for? To become chattel for another being? For fucks sake, who even knew that she would actually eat me once I died? Maybe this was all just some twisted sport for her. I'd heard stories like this before.
I thought I would be scared.
I thought I would break apart under pressure, which is why I so often avoided it.
I thought I would cry, or scream, or howl over the injustice being done to me.
Instead, I'm pissed.
I'm fucking mad as hell, and I hope she can feel that. Whatever fear is left has cornered itself in the back of my mind where it stays, feeding me epinephrine. The rest of me is shivering with rage, trying to summon the only power I ever knew I could make ... without much success. It sparks to life weakly, sensing my need but unable to fully form because I'm an idiot and hardly ever practiced summoning. I just barely manage to create blue sparks of light sputtering out around me.
Flick, flick, flick. Useless thing. Useless Apothica.
Not like the horned mare who is so quiet and patient during my frantic last few seconds. She who builds the darkness like a plaything, pushing it onto me with a physical weight that holds me in one spot. She's probably laughing at me, the witch. She's probably enjoying this. Meanwhile I can feel the physical darkness like doom, counting the pressure as it builds like seconds of my life slowly ticking away.
Tick, tick, tick.
Boom.
Fire replaces the darkness, and I can only think enough to react. I throw my wings up in front of me, shielding myself from the heat that pours out of my enemy's mouth, but the fire is quick to latch onto my feathers. It eats them, devours the lovely black tips and turns the hollow center points to ash while my skin melts around it, and I am left screaming and writhing in the most unimaginable, horrible pain. I want to die. Anything would be better than this.
Trapped in her cage made of shadows, I'm left to wail as the flesh bubbles and sloughs away. Perhaps by now every part of me is accentuated by flame, like a striking picture of horror. Maybe even beautiful. "The final scene of a lonely girl trapped and tortured to death", her muscles shriveled from the heat and her mouth open but unable to make sound anymore. A light in the dark.
Who knows how long I'm left roasting. My skin is burnt away; I can't fucking tell anymore. I don't have wings. I can't move. I can't think. If I'm conscious, it's only my brain keeping me alive before the smoke inhalation does the rest.
She could do whatever she liked, now.
I was finished the moment she picked me.
For myself, it wasn't memories of a loving family or laughter I shared with my friends over the years. There wasn't a particular wish or final request, no "would've could've should've". I don't take the time to appreciate my surroundings or try to take one last, deep breath.
For me, the last thing I remember clearly seeing was the face of my attacker.
That was when time slowed down and my instincts kicked in. It could've been adrenaline, but I could see so clearly despite the dark and those unusual shadows. She had horns and scales, (how original) and her eyes - those eyes! - gleaming silver in the dark. She was so determined and so sure of herself that even I felt the inevitability of my death creeping ever closer. There was no hope in fighting my way out; she was too powerful.
She was everything I had never been. She was everything I thought I could live without, come to prove me wrong in the most wretched way imaginable.
I remembered that face before the world went entirely dark.
Is this destiny? The thought came, forbidden. I sounded bitter.
Was this all I was meant for? To become chattel for another being? For fucks sake, who even knew that she would actually eat me once I died? Maybe this was all just some twisted sport for her. I'd heard stories like this before.
I thought I would be scared.
I thought I would break apart under pressure, which is why I so often avoided it.
I thought I would cry, or scream, or howl over the injustice being done to me.
Instead, I'm pissed.
I'm fucking mad as hell, and I hope she can feel that. Whatever fear is left has cornered itself in the back of my mind where it stays, feeding me epinephrine. The rest of me is shivering with rage, trying to summon the only power I ever knew I could make ... without much success. It sparks to life weakly, sensing my need but unable to fully form because I'm an idiot and hardly ever practiced summoning. I just barely manage to create blue sparks of light sputtering out around me.
Flick, flick, flick. Useless thing. Useless Apothica.
Not like the horned mare who is so quiet and patient during my frantic last few seconds. She who builds the darkness like a plaything, pushing it onto me with a physical weight that holds me in one spot. She's probably laughing at me, the witch. She's probably enjoying this. Meanwhile I can feel the physical darkness like doom, counting the pressure as it builds like seconds of my life slowly ticking away.
Tick, tick, tick.
Boom.
Fire replaces the darkness, and I can only think enough to react. I throw my wings up in front of me, shielding myself from the heat that pours out of my enemy's mouth, but the fire is quick to latch onto my feathers. It eats them, devours the lovely black tips and turns the hollow center points to ash while my skin melts around it, and I am left screaming and writhing in the most unimaginable, horrible pain. I want to die. Anything would be better than this.
Trapped in her cage made of shadows, I'm left to wail as the flesh bubbles and sloughs away. Perhaps by now every part of me is accentuated by flame, like a striking picture of horror. Maybe even beautiful. "The final scene of a lonely girl trapped and tortured to death", her muscles shriveled from the heat and her mouth open but unable to make sound anymore. A light in the dark.
Who knows how long I'm left roasting. My skin is burnt away; I can't fucking tell anymore. I don't have wings. I can't move. I can't think. If I'm conscious, it's only my brain keeping me alive before the smoke inhalation does the rest.
She could do whatever she liked, now.
I was finished the moment she picked me.