01-11-2019, 02:28 AM
ryatah
hell is empty and all the devils are here
For the first time in over a hundred years, her eyes are open.
She sees them – all of them, and everything around them – and yet she has become so accustomed to relying on her other senses that for a moment, it had almost been too much. To see, to hear, and to smell – everything was too loud, and much too bright, and when Carnage had left her, she had remained in the dark. She was used to it; something she never thought she would say. The shadows and the night were the closest thing she had to the world she had become adapted to, and so it was still in the veil of darkness that she kept herself shrouded in. Away from the rest of them, away from Skellig, and away from the glaring light.
But the stars – they are enough to draw her out.
She can see the silver light of the moon as it strains through the trees up above, and she follows the path it spills across the ground, until she emerges from the treeline, a flash of white in the dark. She hardly notices as her legs carry her to the river’s edge, her face tilted upwards. For the first time, she ignores the sounds of others milling around nearby, realizing that she didn’t have to acknowledge everyone to make sure they were aware that the eyeless ghost next to them wasn’t completely oblivious to their presence. Instead, her gaze remains focused on the blue-black sky above, the shimmer of the stars reflecting in her newborn, almost sable colored eyes. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, there is a worry – a nagging feeling, his words still twisting in her head. She has ran over them so many times, until their sharp edges had been worn smooth from the way she had been flipping, and turning, and dissecting the entire encounter. He never did anything for free; she already knew this. What she wasn’t sure of, however, was the enigmatic way in which he had left her, instead of just saying – or taking – what he wanted right then.
A sound nearby pulls her attention from the skies above, listening carefully for what lay beneath the rush of water over rock, and the wind through the trees. And when she sees him – still such a strange thing for her to be able to do – she is again flooded with memories that had long lay dormant. First Ashhal, and then Carnage – and him now, too, it seems, and she cannot help but to wonder why does she keep finding her way back to things that should have been laid to rest years ago.
And more importantly, why does she always walk towards the chaos, instead of leaving it behind.
“All of the ghosts of my past are coming out to haunt me, it seems,” she says with a simper that spreads like a whisper across her pale lips, her stark white body coming to rest easily alongside his. Through the strands of her silver forelock, she peers up at him, his name still fitting so perfectly on her tongue when she says, ”Hello again, Eight.”
She sees them – all of them, and everything around them – and yet she has become so accustomed to relying on her other senses that for a moment, it had almost been too much. To see, to hear, and to smell – everything was too loud, and much too bright, and when Carnage had left her, she had remained in the dark. She was used to it; something she never thought she would say. The shadows and the night were the closest thing she had to the world she had become adapted to, and so it was still in the veil of darkness that she kept herself shrouded in. Away from the rest of them, away from Skellig, and away from the glaring light.
But the stars – they are enough to draw her out.
She can see the silver light of the moon as it strains through the trees up above, and she follows the path it spills across the ground, until she emerges from the treeline, a flash of white in the dark. She hardly notices as her legs carry her to the river’s edge, her face tilted upwards. For the first time, she ignores the sounds of others milling around nearby, realizing that she didn’t have to acknowledge everyone to make sure they were aware that the eyeless ghost next to them wasn’t completely oblivious to their presence. Instead, her gaze remains focused on the blue-black sky above, the shimmer of the stars reflecting in her newborn, almost sable colored eyes. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, there is a worry – a nagging feeling, his words still twisting in her head. She has ran over them so many times, until their sharp edges had been worn smooth from the way she had been flipping, and turning, and dissecting the entire encounter. He never did anything for free; she already knew this. What she wasn’t sure of, however, was the enigmatic way in which he had left her, instead of just saying – or taking – what he wanted right then.
A sound nearby pulls her attention from the skies above, listening carefully for what lay beneath the rush of water over rock, and the wind through the trees. And when she sees him – still such a strange thing for her to be able to do – she is again flooded with memories that had long lay dormant. First Ashhal, and then Carnage – and him now, too, it seems, and she cannot help but to wonder why does she keep finding her way back to things that should have been laid to rest years ago.
And more importantly, why does she always walk towards the chaos, instead of leaving it behind.
“All of the ghosts of my past are coming out to haunt me, it seems,” she says with a simper that spreads like a whisper across her pale lips, her stark white body coming to rest easily alongside his. Through the strands of her silver forelock, she peers up at him, his name still fitting so perfectly on her tongue when she says, ”Hello again, Eight.”
@[Eight]