<p align=justify>She blinks several times, trying to adjust her vision. There is nothing of the previous violence in her chest. There are no stones or shards; it is… empty. There isn’t even a beat though instinct makes her listen for it. Mae’s gray ears flick back and forth but they catch nothing. When she glances over her shoulder, she can see the somber waves raking over the pebbles of this eternity.
Mae realizes that she <i>sees</i> them lapping at the shore. It is her mind that is recalling the sound of waves, mocking the reality of the sound. There is another noise in the back of her mind. There is something else there but it is not the empty echoes of absent waves. Her dark eyes survey the others and she wonders, briefly, what they make of all this. The old who might find some small relief to have the weariness stripped from their tired bones. The young who (if they never get back) might mourn what they will never be.
The gray mare finds neither.
(There is a small consolation that he has dulled them all in their massacre. In the hereafter, the bright colors of life no longer seem to matter. They are all like her - gray. There is the small consolation that if they stay here long enough - if they get trapped - they could become like her. Forgotten.)
Some of the Shades pair together (as they should - it is in their very nature. What is a horse without the herd?). Some stand apart. Some scowl and some scorn. Mae does what she so often did when she had been alive - she stayed quiet. She did nothing to attract the notice of the Others and so she foolishly hoped, of Carnage.
And it <i>is</i> a foolish thought. He doesn’t need to take notice of her when he holds dominion over them all. Holds their minds and their souls hostage.
The Afterlife is rubbing against something, he booms. It is rubbing itself thin and raw. The Gates had been opened but what Carnage speaks of is different. This is not about opened Gates. This is about frayed threads and the unraveling fabric of this world; it could reveal a different type of linen entirely. He warns and he laughs and then like a fickle Fate, he leaves their minds and finally <i>them</i>.
Mae stares down the Beach where the fog looms. There is a moment where she considers staying where stands. There are far worse things than dying, after all. There is a chance she might find one of them at the other end of this phantom shore. But if she stays here? There is nothing here and the faint prickling sensation of fear creeps up her spine and then her neck, all the way to the space in her mind that Carnage had occupied.
What is worse than nothing? Emotions come harder here (or maybe just for her, maybe a tattered heart only feels in pieces).
So as the souls depart, vanishing into the mist, so does she. The fear of being left behind - betrayed by the need to follow the herd - becomes greater than what lies ahead. Mae walks ahead and into the haze of the Afterlife. There are pebbles beneath her hooves but she hears nothing when they should clatter together. There is a filmy sheen on them - like they should be damp - and yet her steps never falter. Mae never slips or stumbles.
A sound makes her stop.
Abruptly, her head jerks up and her ears move. Forward and back, forward and back, a poor imitation of the dark ocean water she no longer sees. There is no wind to move past her mane and so there nothing on the breeze to tell her what might be out there. Her emotions still feel dim, like all her Fear had been left on the Beach when she had still been living. She wonders if the shards of her heart drained all the feelings out of her, because when she hears the sound again and she stills, she knows that if her heart were still beating, it would stop.
It’s a bright, vibrant sound.
It is contrary to everything in this realm.
<i>’You forgot me!’</i> the piping voice teases.
<b>”No,”</b> she (thinks?) speaks. <b>”No, I didn’t forget you.”</b>
The disembodied voice giggles. <i>'You did,'</i> it accuses, though there is nothing hostile about the tone. <i>'You did. You did. You did.'</i> It giggles again. A girl’s voice. <b>"No, I just-”</b> Mae starts before the sound comes from another direction.
<i>'Then what did you name me?'</i> It asks, a question that hums with another sound. There is another noise that vibrates at the back of it and it distracts her. She named her, she thinks. It was just she was already gone. The breath and blood had already bled out of her. <b>"I-,”</b> she starts, trying to recall but the buzzing sound grows louder in her mind. The voice still doesn’t take a shape but she can imagine the smile; cold. <i>'You named my sisters,'</i> it sings, a mockery of joy. <i>'Ashlynn and Liliana.'</i>
Hearing those names makes her remember.
She remembers. Her time in the Dale and the sham it was.
Her time in the Chamber and the hollowing it did.
Her brow furrows and she tries to move ahead. Like before, she doesn’t falter but Mae knows she is no longer alone. The voice never takes a shape but sometimes it laughs to her right. Sometimes it tries to tease to her left, trying to engage her. <i>'Why couldn’t you name me?’</i> the voice chortles. <i>'What did I do to deserve to be forgotten?’</i> it speculates, tracing lightly over the question and yet it weighs heavier on Mae with each step.
<b>"I did,”</b> she says. <b>"I named you,”</b> the Shade pleads. <b>"I told your Father. I told him what I wanted to call you.”</b> It laughs again. <i>'And yet they said you perished over the death of another man.'</i> Mae keeps walking but the sound in her ears is unbearable and it grates on her. Even when she pins them back into her neck, the grinding sound doesn’t leave her alone.
Much like the voice that dances from one pale side of her to another.
It mingles with the static. It says other things. She knows it does but the vibration in her ears almost drones it out. It keeps taunting her. It laughs at her. It calls her Selfish. It calls her Faithless. It calls her Weak. It - <i>she</i> - refuses to call her Mother. On and on it drones: <i>'Connor grew up to be like Pawn.’</i> <i>'Arabelle never forgave you for leaving her in the Den.’</i> ‘<i>Jacob vanished.’</i> <i>'They remembered my sisters and I as the daughters of Coca-Cola. Your name was abandoned, as you abandoned us.’</i>
<b>"No,”</b> she chokes with a heavy step. Those emotions - the ache she thought that had been left behind in the realm of the Living - had been filling her with each one she took. It threatened to make her heavy. It threatened to make her stop. It threatened to trap her here. <b>"I named you.”</b> The sound grows louder and louder, like wailing. It surrounds her and the more that Mae thinks, the harder she tries to remember, the angrier it becomes. <b>"I-,”</b> the mare of Old Beqanna whispers.
There is too much fog. Around her and in her, swirling through her mind. The voice continues to speak. It continues on and on and on, unbearable. Unbearable until Mae stops, almost brought to her knees. It lays her low.
The voice is still there, though she can barely differentiate it from the now-constant buzzing that rankles every part of her. All those torn, cut-up places inside of her rile with it. <i>'You didn’t name me!’</i> It screams, the voice rising above the vibration. It cuts her, much the same way that Carnage’s Magic had. But now? Now, she has had enough and she only wants the noise to stop.
She wants this to end.
<b>"No,”</b> she seethes. <b>"I did not name you. Why would I? You would have been nothing but a harbinger of bad tidings. An ill omen. What name would I have given to a mother-killing child?”</b> The voice is everywhere. It is a torrent and it is <i>in</i> the sound. Mae does not see that she has found herself at the top of a cliff. The shapeless thing blazes and the gray mare suddenly knows how to extinguish it.
She gives it a name; a word. <b>"Murderer.”</b>
On the tip of her tongue and given life here - in the Ether where nothing should be born - it dies. Leaving Mae on her knees and on a ledge with only the ringing frenzy in her head that echoes of repercussions yet to come.
Mae realizes that she <i>sees</i> them lapping at the shore. It is her mind that is recalling the sound of waves, mocking the reality of the sound. There is another noise in the back of her mind. There is something else there but it is not the empty echoes of absent waves. Her dark eyes survey the others and she wonders, briefly, what they make of all this. The old who might find some small relief to have the weariness stripped from their tired bones. The young who (if they never get back) might mourn what they will never be.
The gray mare finds neither.
(There is a small consolation that he has dulled them all in their massacre. In the hereafter, the bright colors of life no longer seem to matter. They are all like her - gray. There is the small consolation that if they stay here long enough - if they get trapped - they could become like her. Forgotten.)
Some of the Shades pair together (as they should - it is in their very nature. What is a horse without the herd?). Some stand apart. Some scowl and some scorn. Mae does what she so often did when she had been alive - she stayed quiet. She did nothing to attract the notice of the Others and so she foolishly hoped, of Carnage.
And it <i>is</i> a foolish thought. He doesn’t need to take notice of her when he holds dominion over them all. Holds their minds and their souls hostage.
The Afterlife is rubbing against something, he booms. It is rubbing itself thin and raw. The Gates had been opened but what Carnage speaks of is different. This is not about opened Gates. This is about frayed threads and the unraveling fabric of this world; it could reveal a different type of linen entirely. He warns and he laughs and then like a fickle Fate, he leaves their minds and finally <i>them</i>.
Mae stares down the Beach where the fog looms. There is a moment where she considers staying where stands. There are far worse things than dying, after all. There is a chance she might find one of them at the other end of this phantom shore. But if she stays here? There is nothing here and the faint prickling sensation of fear creeps up her spine and then her neck, all the way to the space in her mind that Carnage had occupied.
What is worse than nothing? Emotions come harder here (or maybe just for her, maybe a tattered heart only feels in pieces).
So as the souls depart, vanishing into the mist, so does she. The fear of being left behind - betrayed by the need to follow the herd - becomes greater than what lies ahead. Mae walks ahead and into the haze of the Afterlife. There are pebbles beneath her hooves but she hears nothing when they should clatter together. There is a filmy sheen on them - like they should be damp - and yet her steps never falter. Mae never slips or stumbles.
A sound makes her stop.
Abruptly, her head jerks up and her ears move. Forward and back, forward and back, a poor imitation of the dark ocean water she no longer sees. There is no wind to move past her mane and so there nothing on the breeze to tell her what might be out there. Her emotions still feel dim, like all her Fear had been left on the Beach when she had still been living. She wonders if the shards of her heart drained all the feelings out of her, because when she hears the sound again and she stills, she knows that if her heart were still beating, it would stop.
It’s a bright, vibrant sound.
It is contrary to everything in this realm.
<i>’You forgot me!’</i> the piping voice teases.
<b>”No,”</b> she (thinks?) speaks. <b>”No, I didn’t forget you.”</b>
The disembodied voice giggles. <i>'You did,'</i> it accuses, though there is nothing hostile about the tone. <i>'You did. You did. You did.'</i> It giggles again. A girl’s voice. <b>"No, I just-”</b> Mae starts before the sound comes from another direction.
<i>'Then what did you name me?'</i> It asks, a question that hums with another sound. There is another noise that vibrates at the back of it and it distracts her. She named her, she thinks. It was just she was already gone. The breath and blood had already bled out of her. <b>"I-,”</b> she starts, trying to recall but the buzzing sound grows louder in her mind. The voice still doesn’t take a shape but she can imagine the smile; cold. <i>'You named my sisters,'</i> it sings, a mockery of joy. <i>'Ashlynn and Liliana.'</i>
Hearing those names makes her remember.
She remembers. Her time in the Dale and the sham it was.
Her time in the Chamber and the hollowing it did.
Her brow furrows and she tries to move ahead. Like before, she doesn’t falter but Mae knows she is no longer alone. The voice never takes a shape but sometimes it laughs to her right. Sometimes it tries to tease to her left, trying to engage her. <i>'Why couldn’t you name me?’</i> the voice chortles. <i>'What did I do to deserve to be forgotten?’</i> it speculates, tracing lightly over the question and yet it weighs heavier on Mae with each step.
<b>"I did,”</b> she says. <b>"I named you,”</b> the Shade pleads. <b>"I told your Father. I told him what I wanted to call you.”</b> It laughs again. <i>'And yet they said you perished over the death of another man.'</i> Mae keeps walking but the sound in her ears is unbearable and it grates on her. Even when she pins them back into her neck, the grinding sound doesn’t leave her alone.
Much like the voice that dances from one pale side of her to another.
It mingles with the static. It says other things. She knows it does but the vibration in her ears almost drones it out. It keeps taunting her. It laughs at her. It calls her Selfish. It calls her Faithless. It calls her Weak. It - <i>she</i> - refuses to call her Mother. On and on it drones: <i>'Connor grew up to be like Pawn.’</i> <i>'Arabelle never forgave you for leaving her in the Den.’</i> ‘<i>Jacob vanished.’</i> <i>'They remembered my sisters and I as the daughters of Coca-Cola. Your name was abandoned, as you abandoned us.’</i>
<b>"No,”</b> she chokes with a heavy step. Those emotions - the ache she thought that had been left behind in the realm of the Living - had been filling her with each one she took. It threatened to make her heavy. It threatened to make her stop. It threatened to trap her here. <b>"I named you.”</b> The sound grows louder and louder, like wailing. It surrounds her and the more that Mae thinks, the harder she tries to remember, the angrier it becomes. <b>"I-,”</b> the mare of Old Beqanna whispers.
There is too much fog. Around her and in her, swirling through her mind. The voice continues to speak. It continues on and on and on, unbearable. Unbearable until Mae stops, almost brought to her knees. It lays her low.
The voice is still there, though she can barely differentiate it from the now-constant buzzing that rankles every part of her. All those torn, cut-up places inside of her rile with it. <i>'You didn’t name me!’</i> It screams, the voice rising above the vibration. It cuts her, much the same way that Carnage’s Magic had. But now? Now, she has had enough and she only wants the noise to stop.
She wants this to end.
<b>"No,”</b> she seethes. <b>"I did not name you. Why would I? You would have been nothing but a harbinger of bad tidings. An ill omen. What name would I have given to a mother-killing child?”</b> The voice is everywhere. It is a torrent and it is <i>in</i> the sound. Mae does not see that she has found herself at the top of a cliff. The shapeless thing blazes and the gray mare suddenly knows how to extinguish it.
She gives it a name; a word. <b>"Murderer.”</b>
On the tip of her tongue and given life here - in the Ether where nothing should be born - it dies. Leaving Mae on her knees and on a ledge with only the ringing frenzy in her head that echoes of repercussions yet to come.