04-05-2021, 09:23 PM
it's a mystery to me
we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
Wishbone has never considered herself afraid. She has peered into the many shifting faces of Death and laughed. From the moment she could walk, Wishbone has been a daughter of Bravery. Fear has been an emotion not nearly as strong as the rest, a phantom that haunts the quietest part of her mind. She has been happy this way; she has been proud of her independence, her fearlessness, her courage.
It had felt like nothing would phase her. She had kept her chin up, even as Ivar sunk his teeth into her skin, pressing his weight between her shoulders and forcing ocean water into her lungs. While the Afterlife was gray and cold and hazy, she had paced the threshold between Life and Death until her legs gave out beneath her. It wasn’t until the monster twisted from her murderer into a friend’s friend into a true beast that Wishbone felt the first fleeting screams of genuine fear. To die once was an adventure; to die again would be torture.
And yet, she hadn’t died. Merely splintered into a thousand pieces and reformed into someone new. Wishbone can’t explain it (even still, she is confused by the magic that winds through her blood), but this purple body feels closer to her original body. It brings her comfort, even as an unfamiliar voice cuts through the darkness.
Perhaps she would have sent a blunt-tipped bone right through his chest if it weren’t for several different factors. Monsters didn’t speak — something she had learned in her encounters with them. Her body is unwilling to die — if bleeding out by a pair of relentless jaws hadn’t killed her, maybe nothing would. The stranger is a twisted skeleton — she can hear the clatter of bone rubbing against its brethren.
“I’m assuming the wolves are friends of yours.” There’s a twist of humor in her rough voice. Tephra is her home, and even that simple fact eases whatever fragile pieces of fear linger in her mind. “I will have to remember that wolves and skeletons tend to run together.” Wishbone’s amber eyes twinkle with amusement, even as she introduces herself. “I’m Wishbone.”
It had felt like nothing would phase her. She had kept her chin up, even as Ivar sunk his teeth into her skin, pressing his weight between her shoulders and forcing ocean water into her lungs. While the Afterlife was gray and cold and hazy, she had paced the threshold between Life and Death until her legs gave out beneath her. It wasn’t until the monster twisted from her murderer into a friend’s friend into a true beast that Wishbone felt the first fleeting screams of genuine fear. To die once was an adventure; to die again would be torture.
And yet, she hadn’t died. Merely splintered into a thousand pieces and reformed into someone new. Wishbone can’t explain it (even still, she is confused by the magic that winds through her blood), but this purple body feels closer to her original body. It brings her comfort, even as an unfamiliar voice cuts through the darkness.
Perhaps she would have sent a blunt-tipped bone right through his chest if it weren’t for several different factors. Monsters didn’t speak — something she had learned in her encounters with them. Her body is unwilling to die — if bleeding out by a pair of relentless jaws hadn’t killed her, maybe nothing would. The stranger is a twisted skeleton — she can hear the clatter of bone rubbing against its brethren.
“I’m assuming the wolves are friends of yours.” There’s a twist of humor in her rough voice. Tephra is her home, and even that simple fact eases whatever fragile pieces of fear linger in her mind. “I will have to remember that wolves and skeletons tend to run together.” Wishbone’s amber eyes twinkle with amusement, even as she introduces herself. “I’m Wishbone.”
@[Tamlin]