jamie
01-02-2021, 04:57 PM
Jamie
How the shadow thing thrives in such terrible darkness.
It puts a thrill in his chest that he makes no effort to exorcise.
In all his years, he has never been so horribly, horribly alive. He aches with his aliveness, the shadow thing. It is the most visceral of all infections. And ironic, too, that something so intrinsically connected to death should vibrate with so much life. The heart beats something wild, frenetic, chaos in the cage of his ribs.
He wanders through this strange darkness simply to experience it. As if he might draw it into his skin. As if he is not already made of this darkness. The things (creatures, friends, allies, he will never call them monsters) do not trouble him. He is one of them, he is certain of it. This is not the first time they have met, these great, terrible, powerful creatures. They had tried to destroy him in the underworld, had sunk their razor-sharp teeth into the curve of his spine until they eviscerated the bone and he died a second, more terrible death. And now they do not spare him so much as a curious glance.
He smiles his shark-tooth smile and wanders and lets his legs carry him where they will. He has no destination in mind, only knows that he is not ready to return to Pangea. Surely news of his victory has traveled there by now, they do not need to hear it from him.
Despite the new magic thrumming in his veins, the breath still rattles as he draws it. As if it is a tangible thing dragged across ribs.
Ahead, a figure begins to emerge and, though he has lived nearly his whole life in the darkness, he cannot decide whether they are strange or familiar.
It puts a thrill in his chest that he makes no effort to exorcise.
In all his years, he has never been so horribly, horribly alive. He aches with his aliveness, the shadow thing. It is the most visceral of all infections. And ironic, too, that something so intrinsically connected to death should vibrate with so much life. The heart beats something wild, frenetic, chaos in the cage of his ribs.
He wanders through this strange darkness simply to experience it. As if he might draw it into his skin. As if he is not already made of this darkness. The things (creatures, friends, allies, he will never call them monsters) do not trouble him. He is one of them, he is certain of it. This is not the first time they have met, these great, terrible, powerful creatures. They had tried to destroy him in the underworld, had sunk their razor-sharp teeth into the curve of his spine until they eviscerated the bone and he died a second, more terrible death. And now they do not spare him so much as a curious glance.
He smiles his shark-tooth smile and wanders and lets his legs carry him where they will. He has no destination in mind, only knows that he is not ready to return to Pangea. Surely news of his victory has traveled there by now, they do not need to hear it from him.
Despite the new magic thrumming in his veins, the breath still rattles as he draws it. As if it is a tangible thing dragged across ribs.
Ahead, a figure begins to emerge and, though he has lived nearly his whole life in the darkness, he cannot decide whether they are strange or familiar.
( FROM THE DESTRUCTION, OUT OF THE FLAME
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
@[laura]